It’s been more than two years now since J. K. Rowling brought her Harry
Potter series to a close, but my passion for the boy wizard and all of
his friends has not dimmed. So I was delighted when my friends Erica and
Art, who have not yet succumbed to the magic of Harry but know how
thoroughly I have, presented me with two Harry Potter postcard sets for
Christmas.
This particular set features Harry himself. It
comes in an attractive box that contains a pack of 15 postcards and a
small figurine of Harry ready to do battle. The cards are sturdy and
about six inches in length and four inches high. Each depicts a
full-color scene from one of the movies. While the sixth movie is not
represented, the first five are.
Hence, there’s Harry as an
adorable 11-year-old with his owl Hedwig on his arm; 12-year-old Harry
dueling as ridiculous teacher Gilderoy Lockhart looks on; 13-year-old
Harry soaring through the skies on Buckbeak the Hippogriff; 14-year-old
Harry contemplating the mysteries of his dragon egg; and 15-year-old
Harry gazing pensively ahead of him, burdened with too many
responsibilities. It looks to me as though there are three stills from
each of the first five movies, though some are harder to identify as
they are close-up shots rather than iconic moments in the story.
On the back of each postcard, “Harry Potter” is in the top left-hand
corner, written in the jagged font associated with the presentation of
his name in the movie titles. There are lines on the right on which to
write a person’s address, while the stamp spot has a picture of a flying
owl. Of course, since these won’t really be sent by owl post, an actual
stamp will be required, but there’s enough room that affixing the stamp
next to the faux stamp really isn’t a problem.
The Harry
figure is about two inches in height and stands on a rocky base. I would
say he’s modeled after Harry in the fifth movie; his hair is short and
neat, and he’s looking pretty grown up. He’s dressed all in black, with a
white collar and red tie barely visible. His stance is one of
readiness, and his wand is outstretched. For the tiny size of the
figure, it’s very recognizable as Harry.
Similarly, my
Dumbledore figure is about two and a half inches high, and he stands in
attack position, though he seems to have already launched an offensive,
judging by the ferocious look on his face. He’s dressed in flowing blue
robes trimmed with silver, and his white hair whips around him as though
in a breeze. He also stands on a base, but his looks like
stone-patterned tile and is less textured. Meanwhile, his postcards
follow the same basic pattern as Harry’s, though they are definitely
skewed more toward later movies, with only one featuring Richard Harris.
Everything else is Michael Gambon.
There are five other sets
in this series, and collector that I am, I’m tempted to pick up a couple
of them, particularly Hagrid, as I’ve always had a huge soft spot for
the burly half-giant gamekeeper. The rest are Hermione, Ron, Voldemort
and - rather curiously, since he’s only been in one movie so far - Dobby
the House Elf. The fact that I’ve never seen them in stores may slow my
impulses, though they’re not too hard to come by online. We’ll see. But
for now, I have 30 postcards to admire and probably send to fellow
Potter-loving friends eventually. If only I could get an owl to deliver
them for me...
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
Number 2600: Around Epinions - How Can Erie Be Dreary When It Has Presque Isle?
I live in Erie, PA, a city that tends to be rather unappreciated by its
residents. It’s the fourth-largest city in Pennsylvania, but it has a
hometown feel nonetheless. Hence, we kind of get the best of both worlds
here. Major attractions include the small but pleasant Erie Zoo; the humble amusement park Waldameer,
which you can peruse for free, buying ride tickets as desired; the
Millcreek Mall, which recently turned up on a list of the ten best
shopping centers in America; the Warner Theater and Civic Center, where
I’ve seen such acts as Celtic Thunder, Art Garfunkel, James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot, the Irish Rovers, Clay Aiken and the Harlem Globetrotters;
and the recently built casino. But Erie’s proudest feature has to be
Presque Isle, the peninsula jutting out into Lake Erie, and so I’m
making that the subject of my 2600th post here on Epinions.
Presque Isle State Park is 3200 acres, and it’s about a 13-mile drive all the way around the peninsula. There’s no admission fee to enter the park or the Tom Ridge Environmental Center, the state-of-the-art nature center that has stood at the entrance to the peninsula for about four years. Within the park are numerous nature trails, as well as a visitors’ center; some pavilions; the acclaimed ice cream shop Sara’s; and Perry Monument, which stands in tribute to Oliver Hazard “Don’t Give Up the Ship!” Perry, the Naval hero from the Battle of Lake Erie in the War of 1812. You can also see the lighthouse, though only once have I actually seen it illuminated.
Woodsy areas abound on Presque Isle. When we go there with the intention of walking rather than simply taking a drive, I’m most inclined to take those trails that lead through the woods, since that is where one is likeliest to spot wildlife. Birds are especially plentiful on the peninsula. Our favorite to spot is the majestic Great Blue Heron, though we most often see those when we take the canoe out into the lagoon early in the morning. Last year, we had the rare opportunity to see a nesting pair of Least Bitterns. Go in the spring, and you’ll find yourself practically tripping over geese wherever you go.
It’s rare to get around the peninsula without spotting a rabbit or two, and deer have been known to make an appearance. We’ve seen foxes and beavers, and there have long been rumors of coyotes, though we’ve never been lucky enough to see one ourselves. Snapping turtles are fairly common, while any part of the lagoon featuring a large log is a likely sunning spot for smaller turtles. It’s especially fun to come upon these in the canoe; they usually stay put until the canoe comes almost within arm’s reach, so it’s easy to get a lot of fantastic photographs. Then, en masse, they’ll all slip into the water. Once we’ve passed by, they’ll usually resurface within minutes.
The peninsula is usually pretty crowded when we go, except in the early morning, when we only tend to bump into the odd boater or fisherman. During the day, the paths are full of bikers and roller bladers as well as dog-walkers; though it’s easy to get lost in the beauty of the landscape, it’s important to be aware of one’s surroundings lest you get run over or entangled. If you’re going into the woods, be careful to keep as covered up as possible, as there are ticks lurking, and some are pretty nasty. Inspect yourself and especially your dog afterward for ticks. If they’re big enough to be easily visible, they’re probably not a major concern, but you still want to get rid of them quickly.
Of course, most people, particularly visitors to Erie, go to the peninsula with an eye for the beach. There are several different beaches open to visitors. Beach Six is probably the most popular; it includes concessions, restrooms and changing rooms as well as a volleyball court, and during the summer, it’s usually packed. Other popular beaches include Beach One, Barracks Beach and Beaches Seven through Eleven. In addition to swimming, sandcastle-building and other typical beach activities, many people fly kites on the beach, particularly during the off-season. Sometimes we park and simply watch the kites for half an hour or so. There are also several picnic tables so that families can enjoy lunch without worrying too much about getting sand in their food.
A trip to Presque Isle doesn’t have to cost anything, but there are some activities available for those willing to pay a bit extra. One that is highly recommended is the scenic boat tour, which takes visitors around the bay, with a tour guide to point out areas of interest. If your familiarity with Erie is limited, this is a great way to get acquainted with some of its major features. Meanwhile, a pontoon ride around the lagoons is free and also very enjoyable. You might also want to rent one of the surreys, pedal-operated vehicles that are great for families who want to see the peninsula from an unusual perspective. Meanwhile, if you’re a local, you can reserve the pavilions for events. My brothers had their graduation parties in outdoor pavilions, while mine was indoors - which turned out to be a very good thing since we had rain the entire day. It was roomy inside, and we were situated right near a marshy area from which a loon called to us all afternoon.
Presque Isle is most popular during the summer, and its biggest weekend is Discover Presque Isle, which usually takes place in July. At that time, crafters, food vendors and all sorts of local organizations set up shop along the peninsula for a weekend full of activities that include lighthouse tours and sand sculpture contests. Presque Isle is also a popular site for charitable walks and runs, such as the March of Dimes and the CROP Walk, both of which I’ve participated in. The length of the walk makes you realize just how big the peninsula really is.
It can also be fun to visit in the winter, even though you probably won’t be doing any swimming. It’s fun to ramble along the trails during this time because you’re almost certain to see some animal tracks. If it’s been cold enough long enough, you might venture out onto the bay. Erie usually gets a lot of snow, and the ice sometimes is pretty thick. I’ve walked across the bay before, and it’s a pretty neat experience. Ice fisherman are also a common sight, and many people enjoy snowshoeing or cross-country skiing. Meanwhile, check out the beach and you’ll probably be treated to ice dunes, stark and ominous against the gray sky. There’s something stirringly desolate about the peninsula in late winter, as captured in the post-apocalyptic movie The Road, which was filmed in part on Presque Isle.
If you ever have the opportunity to visit Erie, make sure you stop by Presque Isle. It’s a wonderful place to spend the day. And if you live here, take a drive to the peninsula some afternoon and experience a resurgence of civic pride.
Presque Isle State Park is 3200 acres, and it’s about a 13-mile drive all the way around the peninsula. There’s no admission fee to enter the park or the Tom Ridge Environmental Center, the state-of-the-art nature center that has stood at the entrance to the peninsula for about four years. Within the park are numerous nature trails, as well as a visitors’ center; some pavilions; the acclaimed ice cream shop Sara’s; and Perry Monument, which stands in tribute to Oliver Hazard “Don’t Give Up the Ship!” Perry, the Naval hero from the Battle of Lake Erie in the War of 1812. You can also see the lighthouse, though only once have I actually seen it illuminated.
Woodsy areas abound on Presque Isle. When we go there with the intention of walking rather than simply taking a drive, I’m most inclined to take those trails that lead through the woods, since that is where one is likeliest to spot wildlife. Birds are especially plentiful on the peninsula. Our favorite to spot is the majestic Great Blue Heron, though we most often see those when we take the canoe out into the lagoon early in the morning. Last year, we had the rare opportunity to see a nesting pair of Least Bitterns. Go in the spring, and you’ll find yourself practically tripping over geese wherever you go.
It’s rare to get around the peninsula without spotting a rabbit or two, and deer have been known to make an appearance. We’ve seen foxes and beavers, and there have long been rumors of coyotes, though we’ve never been lucky enough to see one ourselves. Snapping turtles are fairly common, while any part of the lagoon featuring a large log is a likely sunning spot for smaller turtles. It’s especially fun to come upon these in the canoe; they usually stay put until the canoe comes almost within arm’s reach, so it’s easy to get a lot of fantastic photographs. Then, en masse, they’ll all slip into the water. Once we’ve passed by, they’ll usually resurface within minutes.
The peninsula is usually pretty crowded when we go, except in the early morning, when we only tend to bump into the odd boater or fisherman. During the day, the paths are full of bikers and roller bladers as well as dog-walkers; though it’s easy to get lost in the beauty of the landscape, it’s important to be aware of one’s surroundings lest you get run over or entangled. If you’re going into the woods, be careful to keep as covered up as possible, as there are ticks lurking, and some are pretty nasty. Inspect yourself and especially your dog afterward for ticks. If they’re big enough to be easily visible, they’re probably not a major concern, but you still want to get rid of them quickly.
Of course, most people, particularly visitors to Erie, go to the peninsula with an eye for the beach. There are several different beaches open to visitors. Beach Six is probably the most popular; it includes concessions, restrooms and changing rooms as well as a volleyball court, and during the summer, it’s usually packed. Other popular beaches include Beach One, Barracks Beach and Beaches Seven through Eleven. In addition to swimming, sandcastle-building and other typical beach activities, many people fly kites on the beach, particularly during the off-season. Sometimes we park and simply watch the kites for half an hour or so. There are also several picnic tables so that families can enjoy lunch without worrying too much about getting sand in their food.
A trip to Presque Isle doesn’t have to cost anything, but there are some activities available for those willing to pay a bit extra. One that is highly recommended is the scenic boat tour, which takes visitors around the bay, with a tour guide to point out areas of interest. If your familiarity with Erie is limited, this is a great way to get acquainted with some of its major features. Meanwhile, a pontoon ride around the lagoons is free and also very enjoyable. You might also want to rent one of the surreys, pedal-operated vehicles that are great for families who want to see the peninsula from an unusual perspective. Meanwhile, if you’re a local, you can reserve the pavilions for events. My brothers had their graduation parties in outdoor pavilions, while mine was indoors - which turned out to be a very good thing since we had rain the entire day. It was roomy inside, and we were situated right near a marshy area from which a loon called to us all afternoon.
Presque Isle is most popular during the summer, and its biggest weekend is Discover Presque Isle, which usually takes place in July. At that time, crafters, food vendors and all sorts of local organizations set up shop along the peninsula for a weekend full of activities that include lighthouse tours and sand sculpture contests. Presque Isle is also a popular site for charitable walks and runs, such as the March of Dimes and the CROP Walk, both of which I’ve participated in. The length of the walk makes you realize just how big the peninsula really is.
It can also be fun to visit in the winter, even though you probably won’t be doing any swimming. It’s fun to ramble along the trails during this time because you’re almost certain to see some animal tracks. If it’s been cold enough long enough, you might venture out onto the bay. Erie usually gets a lot of snow, and the ice sometimes is pretty thick. I’ve walked across the bay before, and it’s a pretty neat experience. Ice fisherman are also a common sight, and many people enjoy snowshoeing or cross-country skiing. Meanwhile, check out the beach and you’ll probably be treated to ice dunes, stark and ominous against the gray sky. There’s something stirringly desolate about the peninsula in late winter, as captured in the post-apocalyptic movie The Road, which was filmed in part on Presque Isle.
If you ever have the opportunity to visit Erie, make sure you stop by Presque Isle. It’s a wonderful place to spend the day. And if you live here, take a drive to the peninsula some afternoon and experience a resurgence of civic pride.
Squirrels Are Uninvited Guests in Adam Rubin and Daniel Salmieri's Those Darn Squirrels!
While I’ve always loved squirrels, I really started to take notice of
them when I watched a pair of television specials about people building
elaborate obstacle courses in an effort to thwart the squirrels
attempting to pilfer their birdseed. Well, for the purposes of the show,
it was more for the entertainment value of watching them try to figure
it out. But many bird lovers try to feed their feathered friends while
discouraging marauding squirrels. That’s just what happens in Those Darn Squirrels!, written by Adam Rubin and illustrated by Daniel Salmieri.
Old Man Fookwire is a grouchy loner. He lives on the edge of town, near the forest, and he has few interests. However, he does have one passion: painting birds. While the book seems to be set on the outskirts of a pretty ordinary town, Salmieri and Rubin have created a fantasy element in the names and appearances of the many birds that visit the codger. Whirley birds, bonga birds, baba birds, yaba birds and floogie birds all come to visit, filling his yard with vibrant colors.
In winter, his yard is empty, which saddens the old man. So one year, he decides to put up birdfeeders in an effort to entice the birds into staying. They appreciate his goodies, but so do some squirrels who live nearby. And so Old Man Fookwire begins to plan, and up goes an elaborate obstacle course. But the squirrels are very clever. Will it be enough to keep them out? And will the birds be convinced to stay through the winter?
This is a cute story in which the squirrels - gray squirrels, which abound here in Pennsylvania - are shown to be both mischievous and compassionate. They love dreaming up ways to outsmart the human who would keep them from a tasty treat, but they also feel sorry for this fellow who doesn’t seem to live a very cheerful life. Toward the end of the book, they hatch a plan to thank him for his unintended generosity, and it’s a very creative and considerate gesture. I love the plot and the way in which all parties involved eventually come to a resolution.
What I’m not so crazy about are the watercolor / gouache / colored pencil illustrations, particularly of the old man, who has a strange, almost grotesque look about him. He has long, stick-thin legs and arms and a neck that might feel more at home on a giraffe, along with a bulbous, ruddy nose. He usually looks cross, and his tongue sometimes sticks out of his mouth. I imagine Salmieri made an effort to depict him as unattractively as possible, in which case, he succeeded. The squirrels are cute enough, but their thin faces fail to convey the personality they show in the text. My favorite element of his illustrations is probably the birds, though I also like his way of depicting the blended colors of the atmosphere.
While these aren’t the most beguiling squirrels I’ve ever seen, anyone who has railed against the bushy-tailed intruders in his backyard or wished that they would come visit her birdfeeder can find something to chuckle over in this silly book.
Old Man Fookwire is a grouchy loner. He lives on the edge of town, near the forest, and he has few interests. However, he does have one passion: painting birds. While the book seems to be set on the outskirts of a pretty ordinary town, Salmieri and Rubin have created a fantasy element in the names and appearances of the many birds that visit the codger. Whirley birds, bonga birds, baba birds, yaba birds and floogie birds all come to visit, filling his yard with vibrant colors.
In winter, his yard is empty, which saddens the old man. So one year, he decides to put up birdfeeders in an effort to entice the birds into staying. They appreciate his goodies, but so do some squirrels who live nearby. And so Old Man Fookwire begins to plan, and up goes an elaborate obstacle course. But the squirrels are very clever. Will it be enough to keep them out? And will the birds be convinced to stay through the winter?
This is a cute story in which the squirrels - gray squirrels, which abound here in Pennsylvania - are shown to be both mischievous and compassionate. They love dreaming up ways to outsmart the human who would keep them from a tasty treat, but they also feel sorry for this fellow who doesn’t seem to live a very cheerful life. Toward the end of the book, they hatch a plan to thank him for his unintended generosity, and it’s a very creative and considerate gesture. I love the plot and the way in which all parties involved eventually come to a resolution.
What I’m not so crazy about are the watercolor / gouache / colored pencil illustrations, particularly of the old man, who has a strange, almost grotesque look about him. He has long, stick-thin legs and arms and a neck that might feel more at home on a giraffe, along with a bulbous, ruddy nose. He usually looks cross, and his tongue sometimes sticks out of his mouth. I imagine Salmieri made an effort to depict him as unattractively as possible, in which case, he succeeded. The squirrels are cute enough, but their thin faces fail to convey the personality they show in the text. My favorite element of his illustrations is probably the birds, though I also like his way of depicting the blended colors of the atmosphere.
While these aren’t the most beguiling squirrels I’ve ever seen, anyone who has railed against the bushy-tailed intruders in his backyard or wished that they would come visit her birdfeeder can find something to chuckle over in this silly book.
Peter Paul and Mary Sing for Social Justice in In These Times
In September of 2009, the world lost a powerful voice in the form of
Mary Travers, best known as the female third of folk trio Peter, Paul
and Mary. I had the great fortune of seeing them perform together in
2006, and I’ve grown up with their music, but I haven’t come close to
listening to all of their albums. I mean to correct that as best I can
this year. My endeavor begins with 2003‘s In These Times, one of their last albums, and one that most demonstrates their commitment to activism.
Union Medley: You Gotta Go Down And Join The Union / Put It On The Ground / Union Maid / We Shall Not Be Moved / Which Side Are You On? - An interesting, banjo-driven medley that sets the tone for this album, which is even more concerned than usual with social justice. Paul reads a caustic quote from Woody Guthrie to the accompaniment of the first song, which seems to be an altered version of Lonesome Valley. Put It On the Ground has a sarcastic tone to it, while Union Maid is playfully defiant. We Shall Not Be Moved is similarly upbeat, and its chorus is general enough that it applies to multiple causes. Finally, the last song is a call to arms, with Mary taking the lead in stirring up people’s passions.
Have You Been to Jail For Justice? - A rousing song, particularly in concert as hundreds are encouraged to belt out the chorus. The witty verses point out various unjust laws throughout history and those who have been brave enough to defy them, including Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. Peter gives historical context, Paul accentuates the absurdity of some especially unfair laws, and Mary growls out her indignation. A powerful anthem for peaceful civil disobedience. “Have you been to jail for justice? / I want to shake your hand / 'Cause sitting in and laying down / Are ways to take a stand. / Have you sung a song for freedom / Or marched that picket line? / Have you been to jail for justice? / Then you're a friend of mine.”
Jesus Is on the Wire - When I took this album out of the library a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t know that one of the tracks was about hate crime victim Matthew Shepard. Around the same time, I’d rented The Laramie Project, which deals with the aftermath of his murder and how it affected the small Wyoming town where he died. Mary has lead vocals on this spooky song whose evocative lyrics and eerie instrumentals seek to capture the desolation of Matthew’s final hours and the horror of what happened to him. “The earth is soft / This time of year; / Boots get caked / From there to here. / Down the road / Route 25 / They found this boy; / He was barely alive...”
Don't Laugh at Me - This gentle tune is an anti-bullying theme song and a cornerstone of Operation Respect, a foundation Peter formed to “assure each child and youth a respectful, safe and compassionate climate of learning where their academic, social and emotional development can take place free of bullying, ridicule and violence.” The lyrics list many different attributes that might spark discrimination, whether it has to do with ethnicity, culture, religion, age, economic status or any number of other factors. Peter has more lines to himself here than anyone else, but for the most part it’s the three singing together, their seamless harmony emphasizing the sense of cooperation they wish to see in the world. “Don't laugh at me. / Don't call me names. / Don't get your pleasure from my pain. / In God's eyes we're all the same. / Someday we'll all have perfect wings. / Don't laugh at me.”
Wayfaring Stranger - Paul Prestopino’s impressive, fast-paced banjo-playing forms an undercurrent to this song to emphasize the theme of journey. Mary takes the lead on this minor-toned song; the speaker is convinced that glory awaits, but it has been an arduous journey. One of the oldest songs on the album, this spiritual is an anthem of hope for those undergoing tribulations. “I'm going there to see my mother. / I'm going there no more to roam. / I'm just a-going over Jordan. / I'm just a-going over home.”
How Can I Keep From Singing? / The Great Storm Is Over - Paul gets the first song to himself, with such minimal accompaniment that it’s nearly an a capella performance, and a very soulful one at that. Peter and Mary join him for the more upbeat second song, and Prestopino again adds a lot with his banjo strumming. An optimistic medley perhaps most notable for the second-to-last chorus, which the three turn into a wonderfully complex round. “Release for the captives, an end to the wars / Now springs in the desert, new hope for the poor. / The little lame children will dance as they sing / And play with the bears and lions in the spring.”
Invisible People - A soft, harmonica-tinged lament in which Peter, Paul and Mary mostly sing together, taking on the voices of those who settled America with little thought for those who were already here. Gently mournful, it acknowledges the mistreatment of indigenous peoples throughout history. “Shattered in spirit / Promises broken / Hunters and healers / Now refugees. / Tell me who is the savage / And who is the savior / When a people are ravaged / By hatred and greed.”
Of This World - Along the lines of If I Have a Hammer but with a more subdued tone, it speaks of various ways to “ease the suffering of this world / with my head, my heart and my hand.” The tone shifts a tad toward the end, becoming more upbeat as the banjo joins in and the three come together to announce their intention to make good on all that potential.
Some Walls - A reflective song about different types of walls that keep people separated from one another. Mostly metaphorical, with guitar backing the lovely melody. “If there’s any hope for love at all / Some walls must fall.”
All God's Critters - One of my long-time Sunday school favorites, this is a fun, kid-friendly song that celebrates the diversity of creation while encouraging inclusion and acceptance for all. They seem to be having a lot of fun with this one, especially Paul, whose sense of humor has always come through particularly well on their recordings. Silly sound effects abound, and the chorus is especially entertaining when Paul takes up an alternate melody to sing alongside Mary and Peter. “All God’s critters got a place in the choir. / Some sing low, some sing higher. / Some sing out loud on the telephone wire / And some just clap their hands or paws or anything they got now.”
It's Magic - The one song on the album that doesn’t particularly follow the social justice theme, but its emphasis on love makes it fit in pretty well anyway. Paul has the lead on this song about a man reflecting on a life full of “magic” moments, from attending his first magic show to falling in love for the first time and eventually becoming a father. A tender song with understated acoustic guitar backing, it has a very personal feel to it, and one can certainly see how someone with this kind of outlook on life might also be the kind of person who would wish such experiences on as many people as possible. “It’s magic and you don’t want to know / Just how it’s done, it would ruin the show. / You’ve just got to believe / ‘Cause believing is what makes it happen. / Oh, it’s nothing but magic.”
Oh, Had I a Golden Thread - Delicate mandolin, always a welcome instrument, threads its way through this hymnlike song that otherwise has an a capella feel to it. I’ve got LOST on the brain, with the sixth and final season starting up in four days, but then that trippy Island drama always seems to be lingering near the forefront of my mind. Hearing this song, I can’t help thinking of Jacob, the enigmatic figure who was finally formally introduced in the season five finale. Unhurried, gentle Jacob has seemingly spent centuries weaving a tapestry on the wall of the chamber where he lives as well as subtly directing the courses of many individuals, and I can imagine him doing just what this song suggests. A solemn but stirring ending to the album. “Show my brothers and my sisters / My rainbow design / And bind up this sorry world / With hand and heart and mind... O had I a golden thread / And needle so fine / I‘d weave a tapestry / Of rainbow design.”
Peter, Paul and Mary’s voices are like golden thread, and they have certainly done their part to weave a beautiful tapestry. If you concur, you’ll want to listen to In These Times.
Union Medley: You Gotta Go Down And Join The Union / Put It On The Ground / Union Maid / We Shall Not Be Moved / Which Side Are You On? - An interesting, banjo-driven medley that sets the tone for this album, which is even more concerned than usual with social justice. Paul reads a caustic quote from Woody Guthrie to the accompaniment of the first song, which seems to be an altered version of Lonesome Valley. Put It On the Ground has a sarcastic tone to it, while Union Maid is playfully defiant. We Shall Not Be Moved is similarly upbeat, and its chorus is general enough that it applies to multiple causes. Finally, the last song is a call to arms, with Mary taking the lead in stirring up people’s passions.
Have You Been to Jail For Justice? - A rousing song, particularly in concert as hundreds are encouraged to belt out the chorus. The witty verses point out various unjust laws throughout history and those who have been brave enough to defy them, including Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. Peter gives historical context, Paul accentuates the absurdity of some especially unfair laws, and Mary growls out her indignation. A powerful anthem for peaceful civil disobedience. “Have you been to jail for justice? / I want to shake your hand / 'Cause sitting in and laying down / Are ways to take a stand. / Have you sung a song for freedom / Or marched that picket line? / Have you been to jail for justice? / Then you're a friend of mine.”
Jesus Is on the Wire - When I took this album out of the library a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t know that one of the tracks was about hate crime victim Matthew Shepard. Around the same time, I’d rented The Laramie Project, which deals with the aftermath of his murder and how it affected the small Wyoming town where he died. Mary has lead vocals on this spooky song whose evocative lyrics and eerie instrumentals seek to capture the desolation of Matthew’s final hours and the horror of what happened to him. “The earth is soft / This time of year; / Boots get caked / From there to here. / Down the road / Route 25 / They found this boy; / He was barely alive...”
Don't Laugh at Me - This gentle tune is an anti-bullying theme song and a cornerstone of Operation Respect, a foundation Peter formed to “assure each child and youth a respectful, safe and compassionate climate of learning where their academic, social and emotional development can take place free of bullying, ridicule and violence.” The lyrics list many different attributes that might spark discrimination, whether it has to do with ethnicity, culture, religion, age, economic status or any number of other factors. Peter has more lines to himself here than anyone else, but for the most part it’s the three singing together, their seamless harmony emphasizing the sense of cooperation they wish to see in the world. “Don't laugh at me. / Don't call me names. / Don't get your pleasure from my pain. / In God's eyes we're all the same. / Someday we'll all have perfect wings. / Don't laugh at me.”
Wayfaring Stranger - Paul Prestopino’s impressive, fast-paced banjo-playing forms an undercurrent to this song to emphasize the theme of journey. Mary takes the lead on this minor-toned song; the speaker is convinced that glory awaits, but it has been an arduous journey. One of the oldest songs on the album, this spiritual is an anthem of hope for those undergoing tribulations. “I'm going there to see my mother. / I'm going there no more to roam. / I'm just a-going over Jordan. / I'm just a-going over home.”
How Can I Keep From Singing? / The Great Storm Is Over - Paul gets the first song to himself, with such minimal accompaniment that it’s nearly an a capella performance, and a very soulful one at that. Peter and Mary join him for the more upbeat second song, and Prestopino again adds a lot with his banjo strumming. An optimistic medley perhaps most notable for the second-to-last chorus, which the three turn into a wonderfully complex round. “Release for the captives, an end to the wars / Now springs in the desert, new hope for the poor. / The little lame children will dance as they sing / And play with the bears and lions in the spring.”
Invisible People - A soft, harmonica-tinged lament in which Peter, Paul and Mary mostly sing together, taking on the voices of those who settled America with little thought for those who were already here. Gently mournful, it acknowledges the mistreatment of indigenous peoples throughout history. “Shattered in spirit / Promises broken / Hunters and healers / Now refugees. / Tell me who is the savage / And who is the savior / When a people are ravaged / By hatred and greed.”
Of This World - Along the lines of If I Have a Hammer but with a more subdued tone, it speaks of various ways to “ease the suffering of this world / with my head, my heart and my hand.” The tone shifts a tad toward the end, becoming more upbeat as the banjo joins in and the three come together to announce their intention to make good on all that potential.
Some Walls - A reflective song about different types of walls that keep people separated from one another. Mostly metaphorical, with guitar backing the lovely melody. “If there’s any hope for love at all / Some walls must fall.”
All God's Critters - One of my long-time Sunday school favorites, this is a fun, kid-friendly song that celebrates the diversity of creation while encouraging inclusion and acceptance for all. They seem to be having a lot of fun with this one, especially Paul, whose sense of humor has always come through particularly well on their recordings. Silly sound effects abound, and the chorus is especially entertaining when Paul takes up an alternate melody to sing alongside Mary and Peter. “All God’s critters got a place in the choir. / Some sing low, some sing higher. / Some sing out loud on the telephone wire / And some just clap their hands or paws or anything they got now.”
It's Magic - The one song on the album that doesn’t particularly follow the social justice theme, but its emphasis on love makes it fit in pretty well anyway. Paul has the lead on this song about a man reflecting on a life full of “magic” moments, from attending his first magic show to falling in love for the first time and eventually becoming a father. A tender song with understated acoustic guitar backing, it has a very personal feel to it, and one can certainly see how someone with this kind of outlook on life might also be the kind of person who would wish such experiences on as many people as possible. “It’s magic and you don’t want to know / Just how it’s done, it would ruin the show. / You’ve just got to believe / ‘Cause believing is what makes it happen. / Oh, it’s nothing but magic.”
Oh, Had I a Golden Thread - Delicate mandolin, always a welcome instrument, threads its way through this hymnlike song that otherwise has an a capella feel to it. I’ve got LOST on the brain, with the sixth and final season starting up in four days, but then that trippy Island drama always seems to be lingering near the forefront of my mind. Hearing this song, I can’t help thinking of Jacob, the enigmatic figure who was finally formally introduced in the season five finale. Unhurried, gentle Jacob has seemingly spent centuries weaving a tapestry on the wall of the chamber where he lives as well as subtly directing the courses of many individuals, and I can imagine him doing just what this song suggests. A solemn but stirring ending to the album. “Show my brothers and my sisters / My rainbow design / And bind up this sorry world / With hand and heart and mind... O had I a golden thread / And needle so fine / I‘d weave a tapestry / Of rainbow design.”
Peter, Paul and Mary’s voices are like golden thread, and they have certainly done their part to weave a beautiful tapestry. If you concur, you’ll want to listen to In These Times.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Fear of Bad Dreams Causes Sleepless Night in Scaredy Squirrel at Night
Last week, I found out about Squirrel Appreciation Day. This led me to
seek out some books having to do with squirrels. In one case, I managed
to find a whole series, written and illustrated by Melanie Watt. Scaredy Squirrel at Night is one of those books.
Scaredy Squirrel is a little paranoid. He’s so terrified of having bad dreams that he decides to avoid sleep altogether, for days on end. But when his horoscope tells him that his dreams are about to come true, more drastic measures are called for. It’s time to gather an arsenal worthy of Home Alone and set up some traps for his inevitable scary visitors. But what will really happen when midnight comes?
Scaredy Squirrel, like many cartoon squirrels, is a tad freakish-looking. He lacks the cuteness of more realistic picture book depictions like Micawber or Earl the Squirrel. Additionally, this book doesn’t read entirely like a traditional story. There’s a definite hyperness to it, and Watt often provides schematics or lists to illustrate Scaredy’s thought processes. These take a little getting used to, but they’re also the funniest element of the book. The story is written in the present tense, which I don’t usually particularly like for stories, but it does increase the sense of immediacy.
I think that lots of children will be able to relate to the fear of having bad dreams, along with the general idea of staying up indefinitely; it seems like a really good idea at first, but as you run out of things to do and become increasingly irritable, it starts to lose its luster. Scaredy Squirrel’s suffers from such side effects as forgetfulness, moodiness, hallucinations and, naturally, drowsiness. But he’s so worried about those dreams that he doesn’t care, and apparently this squirrel has enough reserves of energy to keep going long after most would crash.
What makes this book especially amusing is the fact that his fears include not only ghosts and dragons (and quite unintimidating-looking ones at that) but also fairies and unicorns. Kids with the nighttime jitters may forget some of their worries in the midst of giggles. The climax offers both a startling surprise and a sweet gesture of friendship as it finally shows the neighbors reacting to all of Scaredy Squirrel’s strange behavior. It all adds up to a book that, despite its rather odd-looking characters, is undeniably cute.
Scaredy Squirrel is a little paranoid. He’s so terrified of having bad dreams that he decides to avoid sleep altogether, for days on end. But when his horoscope tells him that his dreams are about to come true, more drastic measures are called for. It’s time to gather an arsenal worthy of Home Alone and set up some traps for his inevitable scary visitors. But what will really happen when midnight comes?
Scaredy Squirrel, like many cartoon squirrels, is a tad freakish-looking. He lacks the cuteness of more realistic picture book depictions like Micawber or Earl the Squirrel. Additionally, this book doesn’t read entirely like a traditional story. There’s a definite hyperness to it, and Watt often provides schematics or lists to illustrate Scaredy’s thought processes. These take a little getting used to, but they’re also the funniest element of the book. The story is written in the present tense, which I don’t usually particularly like for stories, but it does increase the sense of immediacy.
I think that lots of children will be able to relate to the fear of having bad dreams, along with the general idea of staying up indefinitely; it seems like a really good idea at first, but as you run out of things to do and become increasingly irritable, it starts to lose its luster. Scaredy Squirrel’s suffers from such side effects as forgetfulness, moodiness, hallucinations and, naturally, drowsiness. But he’s so worried about those dreams that he doesn’t care, and apparently this squirrel has enough reserves of energy to keep going long after most would crash.
What makes this book especially amusing is the fact that his fears include not only ghosts and dragons (and quite unintimidating-looking ones at that) but also fairies and unicorns. Kids with the nighttime jitters may forget some of their worries in the midst of giggles. The climax offers both a startling surprise and a sweet gesture of friendship as it finally shows the neighbors reacting to all of Scaredy Squirrel’s strange behavior. It all adds up to a book that, despite its rather odd-looking characters, is undeniably cute.
Melanie Watt's Scaredy Squirrel Ventures Out of His Tree
There are more squirrels haunting the pages of children’s literature
than I realized. One of them is Scaredy Squirrel, the protagonist of
Melanie Watt’s cartoonish series, which contains four books to date. The
first, Scaredy Squirrel, introduces the nervous fellow and sets up the basic format that his adventures will follow.
On the jacket, Scaredy speaks for himself, telling readers what to expect from the book to come. He concludes with a cautionary note about a certain demographic for which this story is not suitable. Here, it’s green Martians. On the facing page, there is a warning containing instructions that readers must follow before beginning the book. In this case, he advises applying anti-bacterial soap.
For the story itself, Watt keeps to the third person, present tense as she describes Scaredy’s current dilemma. In this book, he’s an extreme recluse. I’m quite the homebody myself, so I can sympathize, but Scaredy Squirrel never leaves his tree. Not ever. There are too many scary things that could be out there. Martians in the air! Sharks in the river! We see a list of the things that worry him the most, and only two - germs and poison ivy - are very plausible. But Scaredy has an emergency kit with supplies to deal with all of these possibilities, should the need ever arise to leave his tree.
Watt’s writing style matches the personality of the squirrel. It has a hyper edge to it. As a story, the book is only somewhat straightforward, as it makes several side trips into lists and diagrams with helpful notes on them. While one of the books in the series specifically has to do with going to sleep, I wouldn’t generally recommend them for bedtime. These would be better for broad daylight, at a time when there’s no need for the reader or read-to to wind down after a long day.
At some point toward the end of the story, Scaredy’s grand plans inevitably backfire. He has to adjust accordingly. When he does so in this book, he learns something very important about himself and the world around him. Unlike in, say, Green Eggs and Ham, it doesn’t result in a dramatic change to his personality - there are, after all, three more books in the series, and probably more to come - but it’s just enough to make him willing to come out of his tree once in a while.
In some ways, I’m not so different from Scaredy Squirrel. For kids who are nervous like me, this book helps to demonstrate that while there are legitimate reasons to fear aspects of “the unknown,” there can also be advantages to exploring unfamiliar territory.
On the jacket, Scaredy speaks for himself, telling readers what to expect from the book to come. He concludes with a cautionary note about a certain demographic for which this story is not suitable. Here, it’s green Martians. On the facing page, there is a warning containing instructions that readers must follow before beginning the book. In this case, he advises applying anti-bacterial soap.
For the story itself, Watt keeps to the third person, present tense as she describes Scaredy’s current dilemma. In this book, he’s an extreme recluse. I’m quite the homebody myself, so I can sympathize, but Scaredy Squirrel never leaves his tree. Not ever. There are too many scary things that could be out there. Martians in the air! Sharks in the river! We see a list of the things that worry him the most, and only two - germs and poison ivy - are very plausible. But Scaredy has an emergency kit with supplies to deal with all of these possibilities, should the need ever arise to leave his tree.
Watt’s writing style matches the personality of the squirrel. It has a hyper edge to it. As a story, the book is only somewhat straightforward, as it makes several side trips into lists and diagrams with helpful notes on them. While one of the books in the series specifically has to do with going to sleep, I wouldn’t generally recommend them for bedtime. These would be better for broad daylight, at a time when there’s no need for the reader or read-to to wind down after a long day.
At some point toward the end of the story, Scaredy’s grand plans inevitably backfire. He has to adjust accordingly. When he does so in this book, he learns something very important about himself and the world around him. Unlike in, say, Green Eggs and Ham, it doesn’t result in a dramatic change to his personality - there are, after all, three more books in the series, and probably more to come - but it’s just enough to make him willing to come out of his tree once in a while.
In some ways, I’m not so different from Scaredy Squirrel. For kids who are nervous like me, this book helps to demonstrate that while there are legitimate reasons to fear aspects of “the unknown,” there can also be advantages to exploring unfamiliar territory.
Scaredy Squirrel Becomes Less of a Loner and Makes a Friend
I love squirrels. I’m also a bit of a wimp. So I’ve really been getting a
kick out of the Scaredy Squirrel series by Melanie Watt. The main
character is a slightly deranged-looking squirrel who lives all alone in
a tree, generally keeping to himself and staying inside as much as
possible. He’s a recluse and a loner. I can relate. But in Scaredy Squirrel Makes a Friend, he thinks he may be ready to reach out and touch someone. It’s a big step. But it could be the best thing for him.
This book, like the others in the series, comes equipped with warnings, lists and complicated schematics. Watt’s illustrations are cartoonish and silly, while her writing style is simple but chaotic, reflecting her squirrel’s state of mind. She writes in the present tense, so it’s as though Scaredy and the reader are experiencing everything together. The focus here is on his solitary existence, which he likes just fine... mostly. But when he spots what he believes could be a suitable playmate, he can’t resist trying to change his circumstances just a bit.
As always, Scaredy’s specific fears are rather ridiculous. He is afraid of animals with large teeth, which include beavers and bunnies, along with piranhas, walruses and Godzilla. While the first two are unlikely to pose much threat to a squirrel and the last three are almost certain not to be found in his quiet little corner of the woods, these are the animals he has in mind as he comes up with an elaborate plan to introduce himself to the inoffensive creature who has apparently just moved into the neighborhood.
That animal is a goldfish, and frankly I don’t know how, out of the blue, it ended up in the fountain in Scaredy’s front yard. Seems suspect to me. Nonetheless, Scaredy sees great friend potential, since this is an animal that cannot harm him. Of course, it can’t do much of anything else, either. But at least it is safe. I love Scaredy’s list of essential friend-making objects and the explanatory notes indicating why they will come in handy. Most of all, I like Scaredy’s Risk Test, which asks strange animals to use checkmarks to answer a series of questions, including “What do you see?” above a picture of a squirrel, with the possible answers “friend” and “something to bite”.
This is a very funny book. There’s also a practical suggestion or two slipped in among the silliness. On one page, for instance, Scaredy reviews how he will react if approached by a potentially hostile animal, and most of these strategies seem solid for children as well. Also, as he is so preoccupied with teeth in this book, there is a warning at the beginning instructing children to brush their teeth.
Making a new friend can be a nerve-wracking task. But, as Scaredy learns, it needn’t be complicated, and new friends can turn up in unexpected ways. While he is right to show caution in dealing with strangers, Watt, with her upbeat ending, emphasizes the value of friendship and of keeping one’s first impressions in check when judging another’s compatibility.
This book, like the others in the series, comes equipped with warnings, lists and complicated schematics. Watt’s illustrations are cartoonish and silly, while her writing style is simple but chaotic, reflecting her squirrel’s state of mind. She writes in the present tense, so it’s as though Scaredy and the reader are experiencing everything together. The focus here is on his solitary existence, which he likes just fine... mostly. But when he spots what he believes could be a suitable playmate, he can’t resist trying to change his circumstances just a bit.
As always, Scaredy’s specific fears are rather ridiculous. He is afraid of animals with large teeth, which include beavers and bunnies, along with piranhas, walruses and Godzilla. While the first two are unlikely to pose much threat to a squirrel and the last three are almost certain not to be found in his quiet little corner of the woods, these are the animals he has in mind as he comes up with an elaborate plan to introduce himself to the inoffensive creature who has apparently just moved into the neighborhood.
That animal is a goldfish, and frankly I don’t know how, out of the blue, it ended up in the fountain in Scaredy’s front yard. Seems suspect to me. Nonetheless, Scaredy sees great friend potential, since this is an animal that cannot harm him. Of course, it can’t do much of anything else, either. But at least it is safe. I love Scaredy’s list of essential friend-making objects and the explanatory notes indicating why they will come in handy. Most of all, I like Scaredy’s Risk Test, which asks strange animals to use checkmarks to answer a series of questions, including “What do you see?” above a picture of a squirrel, with the possible answers “friend” and “something to bite”.
This is a very funny book. There’s also a practical suggestion or two slipped in among the silliness. On one page, for instance, Scaredy reviews how he will react if approached by a potentially hostile animal, and most of these strategies seem solid for children as well. Also, as he is so preoccupied with teeth in this book, there is a warning at the beginning instructing children to brush their teeth.
Making a new friend can be a nerve-wracking task. But, as Scaredy learns, it needn’t be complicated, and new friends can turn up in unexpected ways. While he is right to show caution in dealing with strangers, Watt, with her upbeat ending, emphasizes the value of friendship and of keeping one’s first impressions in check when judging another’s compatibility.
Scaredy Squirrel's Creativity Lands Him at the Beach
Ten years ago, my family took a trip to Ocean City, Maryland. There were
several activities on our itinerary, but one, naturally, was to hit up
the beach. This was an exciting prospect. But I’ll admit that I, a
longtime resident of a town boasting several freshwater beaches, was
nervous about jellyfish. That’s also a big concern for Scaredy in
Melanie Watt’s Scaredy Squirrel at the Beach. But that’s not all he’s worried about.
No, as in every installment of Watt’s quirky series, Scaredy has a whole list of animals to avoid. Naturally, as a squirrel in a world of predators, he has reason to be a little nervous. But the creatures and objects that really concern him aren’t what one might expect. Scaredy doesn’t want to go to the beach because he doesn’t want to have to deal with seagulls, pirates, lobsters, sea monsters or coconuts. Scaredy, with all of those big white teeth, comes across as just as startling-looking as any of those he fears.
Still, he knows what he wants to stay away from, so instead of heading for the shore, he creates his own little beach in the front yard. Perfect! Except his personal beach lacks the sound of the ocean, so drastic measures are called for. Scaredy concocts a plan to get to the beach, snag a magnificent noise-making seashell and high-tail it home. But as usual, something comes along to disturb his careful plot and prevent its ideal execution...
Watt’s Scaredy Squirrel books are fairly formulaic. They begin with a practical warning to the reader, not so much for the reading of this book but in general. Here, it’s the well-worn advice to wear sunscreen. Watt then gets into Scaredy’s predicament, illustrating his difficulties with pages full of silly lists and punctuating the story with overly complicated battle plans concocted by Scaredy as he prepares to face one of his great fears.
In this book, Scaredy is proactive. He is not forced to go to the beach; he simply decides that his own beach scene is incomplete. The initiative he shows here makes this the bravest of his adventures. Nonetheless, that doesn’t stop him from panicking when his intricate plan for retrieving the shell is hampered by the presence of humans. This is the only book in the series so far to include people, and it’s fun to see how Scaredy deals with that intrusion.
Scaredy strikes me as especially creative here. Building a beach in your front yard seems like a really fun idea, and he even includes instructions on how to do it. Kids reading might want to give it a shot themselves, though they will probably want to alter the design a bit according to their tastes. Meanwhile, his plans for keeping the unsavory crowds away are a hoot; I’m especially amused by his notion that a camera will act as sea monster repellant.
While Scaredy still has some ridiculously neurotic ideas in this book, he comes out of his shell more here than in any other installment. Scaredy Squirrel at the Beach is a terrific trip for all involved.
No, as in every installment of Watt’s quirky series, Scaredy has a whole list of animals to avoid. Naturally, as a squirrel in a world of predators, he has reason to be a little nervous. But the creatures and objects that really concern him aren’t what one might expect. Scaredy doesn’t want to go to the beach because he doesn’t want to have to deal with seagulls, pirates, lobsters, sea monsters or coconuts. Scaredy, with all of those big white teeth, comes across as just as startling-looking as any of those he fears.
Still, he knows what he wants to stay away from, so instead of heading for the shore, he creates his own little beach in the front yard. Perfect! Except his personal beach lacks the sound of the ocean, so drastic measures are called for. Scaredy concocts a plan to get to the beach, snag a magnificent noise-making seashell and high-tail it home. But as usual, something comes along to disturb his careful plot and prevent its ideal execution...
Watt’s Scaredy Squirrel books are fairly formulaic. They begin with a practical warning to the reader, not so much for the reading of this book but in general. Here, it’s the well-worn advice to wear sunscreen. Watt then gets into Scaredy’s predicament, illustrating his difficulties with pages full of silly lists and punctuating the story with overly complicated battle plans concocted by Scaredy as he prepares to face one of his great fears.
In this book, Scaredy is proactive. He is not forced to go to the beach; he simply decides that his own beach scene is incomplete. The initiative he shows here makes this the bravest of his adventures. Nonetheless, that doesn’t stop him from panicking when his intricate plan for retrieving the shell is hampered by the presence of humans. This is the only book in the series so far to include people, and it’s fun to see how Scaredy deals with that intrusion.
Scaredy strikes me as especially creative here. Building a beach in your front yard seems like a really fun idea, and he even includes instructions on how to do it. Kids reading might want to give it a shot themselves, though they will probably want to alter the design a bit according to their tastes. Meanwhile, his plans for keeping the unsavory crowds away are a hoot; I’m especially amused by his notion that a camera will act as sea monster repellant.
While Scaredy still has some ridiculously neurotic ideas in this book, he comes out of his shell more here than in any other installment. Scaredy Squirrel at the Beach is a terrific trip for all involved.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Alexandra Day Defends Rottweilers' Honor in Good Dog, Carl
There are certain breeds of dogs who are always getting a lot of flack.
Pit bulls. Dobermans. Rottweilers. I wonder if Alexandra Day encountered
a lot of ill will toward the latter that led her to attempt to give
them better publicity. Starting with Good Dog, Carl, she has produced a series of books in which a Rottweiler is depicted as the most saintlike of dogs.
Good Dog, Carl is a beautifully illustrated, mostly wordless picture book focusing on the dog’s day at home attending to the family baby. His mistress, who promises to be back home “shortly” but seems to stay away much longer than that, has no qualms about leaving Carl in charge. She knows how responsible he is. We’re about to find out.
Carl is no ordinary dog, and that’s what makes these books both so appealing and vaguely unsettling. For instance, I recently watched Kipper’s Playtime, a collection of cartoons about an anthropomorphic dog and his friends. In one of the shorts, he babysits his friend’s toddler cousin, who happens to be a pig. But Kipper behaves like a human, so there’s nothing very odd about this situation.
By contrast, Carl lives in a very realistic world, and he clearly is supposed to be a realistic dog. But not even Lassie was capable of turning on the record player or making a sandwich or operating a hair drier. Carl does all of these things, using his teeth or paws to assist him. He’s absurdly nimble. Granted, he’s not quite as coordinated as a human would be, so some messes are inevitable, but Carl is also adept at cleaning after himself. Is there anything this dog can’t do?
Day’s tempera paintings are soft and lifelike. While perusing the pictures, it’s tempting to reach out and ruffle Carl’s ears. Stripped of the fierce connotations that often accompany this breed of dog, gentle Carl is quite adorable. There are many irresistible illustrations of his young charge clinging to his fur, and the mutual affection is apparent.
On the other hand, because of the realism, the general concept of a dog babysitting an infant is unnerving, and certain moments within the book seem downright troubling. I’m thinking especially of Carl placing the baby inside the aquarium so she can go for a swim and dropping her into a bathtub in which the water looks fairly deep. These both seem like accidental drownings waiting to happen. Meanwhile, the painting of him trotting up the stairs with the baby on his back invites visions of tumbling head over heels and losing a tooth or breaking a bone.
Good Dog, Carl is a lovely book, and like other books in which the pictures tell the whole story, it offers an opportunity for youngsters to hone their own storytelling skills as they describe what is happening. Mostly, I’m inclined to overlook the strangeness of the situation. But there’s still that little voice inside nagging away. I’m convinced that Carl is a good dog. But I still wouldn’t want a Rottweiler, or even a Golden Retriever, having sole responsibility for my baby.
Good Dog, Carl is a beautifully illustrated, mostly wordless picture book focusing on the dog’s day at home attending to the family baby. His mistress, who promises to be back home “shortly” but seems to stay away much longer than that, has no qualms about leaving Carl in charge. She knows how responsible he is. We’re about to find out.
Carl is no ordinary dog, and that’s what makes these books both so appealing and vaguely unsettling. For instance, I recently watched Kipper’s Playtime, a collection of cartoons about an anthropomorphic dog and his friends. In one of the shorts, he babysits his friend’s toddler cousin, who happens to be a pig. But Kipper behaves like a human, so there’s nothing very odd about this situation.
By contrast, Carl lives in a very realistic world, and he clearly is supposed to be a realistic dog. But not even Lassie was capable of turning on the record player or making a sandwich or operating a hair drier. Carl does all of these things, using his teeth or paws to assist him. He’s absurdly nimble. Granted, he’s not quite as coordinated as a human would be, so some messes are inevitable, but Carl is also adept at cleaning after himself. Is there anything this dog can’t do?
Day’s tempera paintings are soft and lifelike. While perusing the pictures, it’s tempting to reach out and ruffle Carl’s ears. Stripped of the fierce connotations that often accompany this breed of dog, gentle Carl is quite adorable. There are many irresistible illustrations of his young charge clinging to his fur, and the mutual affection is apparent.
On the other hand, because of the realism, the general concept of a dog babysitting an infant is unnerving, and certain moments within the book seem downright troubling. I’m thinking especially of Carl placing the baby inside the aquarium so she can go for a swim and dropping her into a bathtub in which the water looks fairly deep. These both seem like accidental drownings waiting to happen. Meanwhile, the painting of him trotting up the stairs with the baby on his back invites visions of tumbling head over heels and losing a tooth or breaking a bone.
Good Dog, Carl is a lovely book, and like other books in which the pictures tell the whole story, it offers an opportunity for youngsters to hone their own storytelling skills as they describe what is happening. Mostly, I’m inclined to overlook the strangeness of the situation. But there’s still that little voice inside nagging away. I’m convinced that Carl is a good dog. But I still wouldn’t want a Rottweiler, or even a Golden Retriever, having sole responsibility for my baby.
Camilla Cream Learns to Be Herself in A Bad Case of Stripes
Luna Lovegood,
who first appeared in the Harry Potter series in the fifth book, is one
of my favorite fictional characters. She’s completely eccentric, and
she has no shame in expressing her individuality. That’s not to say that
she goes around knocking the “normal” kids all the time. No, she just
happens to be a girl who is very comfortable with who she is, and for
those who are willing to risk losing face by seeking her company, she
offers not only loyal friendship but a sense of validation for whatever their own quirks might be.
Camilla Cream, the conflicted young protagonist of David Shannon’s A Bad Case of Stripes, sadly lacks Luna’s self-assurance. Like so many other children of a certain age, she is desperate to fit in, which leads to her denying her own tastes and interests. Trying so intently to mold herself into the sort of person who will appeal to all of her classmates at once only immobilizes her, leaving her frozen in indecision and soon afflicted with a disease that reflects her mindset.
The books begins, “Camilla Cream loved lima beans.” As lima beans are one of the top foods stereotypically viewed unfavorably, this is a striking statement. It seems a little strange. And Camilla, all in a tizzy over what to wear her first day of the school year, does not want to seem strange, not even a little bit. So she hides her love of lima beans from her legume-despising classmates, just as she hides anything else that might make her different. And then she wakes up and finds herself a rainbow-colored spectacle.
In this book, Shannon weaves a simple but clever cautionary tale. When Camilla, after staying home from school to allow time for a doctor to examine her mysterious dermatological condition, heads back to class, she finds herself a chameleon of sorts, changing colors and patterns at the slightest suggestion from other students. Deemed a distraction and confined to her home, she feels helpless as her condition worsens, exacerbated by the efforts of any number of alleged experts. It takes a simple dose of common sense from a kindly old woman to let her really understand the problem and see what might cure it.
The story is written in an appealing, accessible manner, but it’s the paintings that so vibrantly demonstrate her predicament. On one page, she lies in bed, forlorn, sucking on a thermometer as her skin gleams all the colors of the rainbow. On another, as befuddled doctors in white suits poke and prod her, one can just make out her expression of consternation amidst all the odd multi-colored patterns that now cover her. When the bizarre ailment reaches its most nefarious phase, she is scarcely recognizable, gazing sadly at the television report of the mayhem outside her house as branches and tentacles sprout from her skin.
Camilla Cream could seriously use a Luna in her life, and she does find a role model in the self-expression game, albeit one who’s had many decades of practice. Shannon’s fable has a valuable lesson for all who would seek to hide behind conformity. It comes highly recommended, especially for school libraries and classrooms where new cases of stripes that are not quite so transparent are popping up all the time.
Camilla Cream, the conflicted young protagonist of David Shannon’s A Bad Case of Stripes, sadly lacks Luna’s self-assurance. Like so many other children of a certain age, she is desperate to fit in, which leads to her denying her own tastes and interests. Trying so intently to mold herself into the sort of person who will appeal to all of her classmates at once only immobilizes her, leaving her frozen in indecision and soon afflicted with a disease that reflects her mindset.
The books begins, “Camilla Cream loved lima beans.” As lima beans are one of the top foods stereotypically viewed unfavorably, this is a striking statement. It seems a little strange. And Camilla, all in a tizzy over what to wear her first day of the school year, does not want to seem strange, not even a little bit. So she hides her love of lima beans from her legume-despising classmates, just as she hides anything else that might make her different. And then she wakes up and finds herself a rainbow-colored spectacle.
In this book, Shannon weaves a simple but clever cautionary tale. When Camilla, after staying home from school to allow time for a doctor to examine her mysterious dermatological condition, heads back to class, she finds herself a chameleon of sorts, changing colors and patterns at the slightest suggestion from other students. Deemed a distraction and confined to her home, she feels helpless as her condition worsens, exacerbated by the efforts of any number of alleged experts. It takes a simple dose of common sense from a kindly old woman to let her really understand the problem and see what might cure it.
The story is written in an appealing, accessible manner, but it’s the paintings that so vibrantly demonstrate her predicament. On one page, she lies in bed, forlorn, sucking on a thermometer as her skin gleams all the colors of the rainbow. On another, as befuddled doctors in white suits poke and prod her, one can just make out her expression of consternation amidst all the odd multi-colored patterns that now cover her. When the bizarre ailment reaches its most nefarious phase, she is scarcely recognizable, gazing sadly at the television report of the mayhem outside her house as branches and tentacles sprout from her skin.
Camilla Cream could seriously use a Luna in her life, and she does find a role model in the self-expression game, albeit one who’s had many decades of practice. Shannon’s fable has a valuable lesson for all who would seek to hide behind conformity. It comes highly recommended, especially for school libraries and classrooms where new cases of stripes that are not quite so transparent are popping up all the time.
Earl the Squirrel Tries to Assert His Independence
Last Thursday was Squirrel Appreciation Day. In celebration of that, I
posted several squirrel-related reviews, and it got me wondering what
books might be out there involving my favorite bushy-tailed creatures. I
went searching the online catalog of my local library system, and I
came up with several goodies. One of them was Earl the Squirrel, written by Don Freeman, the author of the much-loved Corduroy, about a dilapidated teddy bear in a department store who longs for a home of his own.
Earl is a young squirrel who lives in a tree with his mother. He has a comfortable existence - too comfy, his mom fears. She demands that he go out and learn how to fend for himself, and that doesn’t mean mooching acorns off of the sweet girl whose house is nearby. But Jill is Earl’s friend, so it’s only natural for him to want to visit her, and when she surprises him with a scarlet scarf that she made herself, he’s sure that he’s found the perfect acorn-collecting tool.
The jacket describes Freeman’s illustration style as “bold, arresting scratchboard art.” It definitely gets one’s attention. The pictures are entirely in black and white, with the exception of the red scarf, which stands out in vibrant contrast to its colorless surroundings. The color red also comes into play in a rather alarming fashion when Earl disturbs a bull reclining under a tree laden with acorns.
I love the illustrations in this story, as Earl is a very cute fellow clearly recognizable as a gray squirrel of the sort that is known to mooch peanuts off of visitors to parks in Pennsylvania and many other states. His almond-shaped eyes are shiny and expressive, accentuating his innocence. Meanwhile, his mother has a sharper look to her. She’s a nagging sort of creature, and it’s easy to imagine the stream of high-pitched chatter emanating from her mouth.
The message of this story seems to be that Earl is more self-sufficient than his mother believes and that she ought to back off and allow him to live as he chooses. Earl, for his part, decides in the end that, as much as he admires Jill’s scarf, he no longer needs it in order to conduct his scavenging duties. That’s all well and good.
What’s not so great is the way he comes upon his hoard - by ignoring the advice of a wise owl and scampering off onto a sleeping bull’s back. This seems foolhardy and inconsiderate. Granted, he never hears the owl’s warning, but that just goes to show he’s not much of a listener. And frankly, he’s not very practical. His plan is evidently to go back to the tree every day and return with one or two acorns. If he kept the scarf, he could transport the stash much more efficiently.
Despite this issue, I find Earl the Squirrel an appealing story, especially for anyone who is nuts about squirrels like I am. Earl could possibly use a knock or two to the noggin, but I’d be glad to have a furry fellow like him hobnobbing with me.
Earl is a young squirrel who lives in a tree with his mother. He has a comfortable existence - too comfy, his mom fears. She demands that he go out and learn how to fend for himself, and that doesn’t mean mooching acorns off of the sweet girl whose house is nearby. But Jill is Earl’s friend, so it’s only natural for him to want to visit her, and when she surprises him with a scarlet scarf that she made herself, he’s sure that he’s found the perfect acorn-collecting tool.
The jacket describes Freeman’s illustration style as “bold, arresting scratchboard art.” It definitely gets one’s attention. The pictures are entirely in black and white, with the exception of the red scarf, which stands out in vibrant contrast to its colorless surroundings. The color red also comes into play in a rather alarming fashion when Earl disturbs a bull reclining under a tree laden with acorns.
I love the illustrations in this story, as Earl is a very cute fellow clearly recognizable as a gray squirrel of the sort that is known to mooch peanuts off of visitors to parks in Pennsylvania and many other states. His almond-shaped eyes are shiny and expressive, accentuating his innocence. Meanwhile, his mother has a sharper look to her. She’s a nagging sort of creature, and it’s easy to imagine the stream of high-pitched chatter emanating from her mouth.
The message of this story seems to be that Earl is more self-sufficient than his mother believes and that she ought to back off and allow him to live as he chooses. Earl, for his part, decides in the end that, as much as he admires Jill’s scarf, he no longer needs it in order to conduct his scavenging duties. That’s all well and good.
What’s not so great is the way he comes upon his hoard - by ignoring the advice of a wise owl and scampering off onto a sleeping bull’s back. This seems foolhardy and inconsiderate. Granted, he never hears the owl’s warning, but that just goes to show he’s not much of a listener. And frankly, he’s not very practical. His plan is evidently to go back to the tree every day and return with one or two acorns. If he kept the scarf, he could transport the stash much more efficiently.
Despite this issue, I find Earl the Squirrel an appealing story, especially for anyone who is nuts about squirrels like I am. Earl could possibly use a knock or two to the noggin, but I’d be glad to have a furry fellow like him hobnobbing with me.
Mr. Jeremy Fisher and Beatrix Potter Persevere in the Face of Calamity
Frogs and toads are popular subjects of children’s books, and many of my
favorite fictional characters are slippery amphibians. One of the
earliest and most iconic is the protagonist of Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher.
Most of Potter’s characters are furry or feathery, so Mr. Fisher stands out as a bit of an oddball. While he is not an unpleasant fellow, he lurks in the chilly damp of a home near the pond where water is always underfoot, and his delicacies of choice veer a bit toward the icky. He is not warm and fuzzy, and I can’t help thinking that this clammy main character may have been a reflection of Potter’s state of mind at the time.
Mr. Fisher is an agreeable fellow. He doesn’t seek out mischief the way that Peter Rabbit does. But calamity finds him nonetheless, blind-siding him with such force that he scarcely thinks he can survive it. As this book was written in the wake of the sudden death of her fiance, Norman Warne, I imagine that this was exactly how she felt while writing it.
While the frog’s bleak surroundings, from the rainy weather to the roasted grasshopper that Potter speculates must have tasted “nasty,” convey a general sense of gloom, it’s his undeserved catastrophe that really seems to hit home. Mr. Fisher’s decision to persevere in the face of adversity, making the best of his situation and salvaging his afternoon by still having a dinner party, is a sign of Potter emerging from her grief to face the world again.
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher is filled with very striking details and images. For instance, there are the frog’s friends, a newt named Isaac Newton and a tortoise named Alderman Ptolemy, who reflect Potter’s admiration for scientists. There’s his slightly creepy choice of a butterfly sandwich for lunch and the wonderful illustration of him floating down the pond, using a lily pad for a boat and a reed for an oar.
For every two pages, there are four pictures of the troublesome trout who afflicts the frog, one in each corner. He faces one direction on the left pages and another on the right, but otherwise, he is the same. For those who have read it previously, his presence provides a sense of foreboding early in the book, while afterwards, it goes to show that the incident will always remain etched in Mr. Fisher’s mind.
Each pair of pages features one page with a paragraph of text and another with a large picture set in a circle or oval. The paintings are intricately detailed, with an array of browns and greens the most prominent colors. The writing is elegant, and while it’s not a very long book, she does slip in some unusual words - or at least words likely to prove unusual to modern young American readers - like “macintosh,” “goloshes,” “bobbit” and “larder”.
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher is a somewhat unusual book in the Potter canon. It’s a tale of woe and resilience in which the protagonist does nothing to invite his troubles but must face them anyway and make the decision to overcome them. That he does so offers a note of hope for all who have fallen upon difficult circumstances.
Most of Potter’s characters are furry or feathery, so Mr. Fisher stands out as a bit of an oddball. While he is not an unpleasant fellow, he lurks in the chilly damp of a home near the pond where water is always underfoot, and his delicacies of choice veer a bit toward the icky. He is not warm and fuzzy, and I can’t help thinking that this clammy main character may have been a reflection of Potter’s state of mind at the time.
Mr. Fisher is an agreeable fellow. He doesn’t seek out mischief the way that Peter Rabbit does. But calamity finds him nonetheless, blind-siding him with such force that he scarcely thinks he can survive it. As this book was written in the wake of the sudden death of her fiance, Norman Warne, I imagine that this was exactly how she felt while writing it.
While the frog’s bleak surroundings, from the rainy weather to the roasted grasshopper that Potter speculates must have tasted “nasty,” convey a general sense of gloom, it’s his undeserved catastrophe that really seems to hit home. Mr. Fisher’s decision to persevere in the face of adversity, making the best of his situation and salvaging his afternoon by still having a dinner party, is a sign of Potter emerging from her grief to face the world again.
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher is filled with very striking details and images. For instance, there are the frog’s friends, a newt named Isaac Newton and a tortoise named Alderman Ptolemy, who reflect Potter’s admiration for scientists. There’s his slightly creepy choice of a butterfly sandwich for lunch and the wonderful illustration of him floating down the pond, using a lily pad for a boat and a reed for an oar.
For every two pages, there are four pictures of the troublesome trout who afflicts the frog, one in each corner. He faces one direction on the left pages and another on the right, but otherwise, he is the same. For those who have read it previously, his presence provides a sense of foreboding early in the book, while afterwards, it goes to show that the incident will always remain etched in Mr. Fisher’s mind.
Each pair of pages features one page with a paragraph of text and another with a large picture set in a circle or oval. The paintings are intricately detailed, with an array of browns and greens the most prominent colors. The writing is elegant, and while it’s not a very long book, she does slip in some unusual words - or at least words likely to prove unusual to modern young American readers - like “macintosh,” “goloshes,” “bobbit” and “larder”.
The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher is a somewhat unusual book in the Potter canon. It’s a tale of woe and resilience in which the protagonist does nothing to invite his troubles but must face them anyway and make the decision to overcome them. That he does so offers a note of hope for all who have fallen upon difficult circumstances.
The Story About Ping Emphasizes the Value of Community
I don’t remember just when I first encountered Marjorie Flack and Kurt Wiese’s The Story About Ping,
but I must have been pretty young. I think of it as one of those books
that I’ve been calling a favorite since before I could even read. So I
was startled when, after it turned up in 1001 Children’s Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up,
I went off in search of my own review of it and discovered I hadn’t
written one. How could I stay silent for so long on such a beloved book?
The Story About Ping was published way back in 1933, predating Robert McCloskey’s Make Way for Ducklings and Janette Sebring Lowrey’s The Poky Little Puppy, the classic books of which it most reminds me, by nearly a decade. It tells the tale of a little yellow duckling in China who lives on a boat with his large extended family and doesn’t realize what a cozy existence he has until he spends a day on his own.
Ping is a very diligent duck. He knows that the last duck to enter the boat at the end of the day will get a spanking, so he is always careful to arrive early. But one day, he is distracted and ends up running late. He knows that if he joins his family, he will be the last one on the boat, so instead he hides until the boat is out of sight, and he spends the night in a cozy patch of grass near the river. So far, so good. But with the daylight comes an important lesson in the disadvantages of an isolated existence.
I love the illustrations in this book, which seem to be a mixture of media. At times, the landscapes and characters are soft and look as though they were done with colored pencil, while other times there are solid patches of color that look like the work of paint. I prefer the softer portions, but having both allows for interesting variety in the illustrations. The setting is intriguing, as it’s one that is probably foreign to most young American readers. We are told that the location is the Yangtze River. Meanwhile, the “once upon a time” and the antiquated-looking clothing and vessels suggest that the time period was well in the past even in 1933.
One of the most interesting details, and one I’d nearly forgotten about before I reread this, involves the birds that Ping sees fishing for their master on a longboat. These birds catch large fish and deliver them to the man in the boat, who rewards them with minnows. What Ping comes to realize is that the birds have bands around their necks preventing them from eating the larger fish. I wouldn’t say that Ping is in any real danger of being swept up into the service of this fisherman, but seeing these truly captive birds must give him a deeper appreciation for his home situation. A little spank on the bottom suddenly doesn’t seem so harsh.
The truly scary part comes in when a little boy lures Ping to his boat with bits of rice cake, intending to keep him as a pet. Ping spends most of the day trapped under a basket, and what’s worse, the boy’s family plans to cook him up for dinner. Here we experience kindness alongside the hostility of the outside world, for the boy, so proud of his accomplishment, releases his prisoner, an action that will most likely result in punishment. Initially, we’re inclined to look at the boy in a villainous light, but he turns out to be a hero and a role model, showing how one rather small but courageous act of kindness can make an enormous impact on someone else.
I love this story for its winning illustrations, its adventure and most of all for its gentle lessons. In the course of one very enlightening day, this yellow fellow comes to understand that, even as handsome and resourceful as he is, no duck is an island. The Story About Ping earns my warmest recommendation.
The Story About Ping was published way back in 1933, predating Robert McCloskey’s Make Way for Ducklings and Janette Sebring Lowrey’s The Poky Little Puppy, the classic books of which it most reminds me, by nearly a decade. It tells the tale of a little yellow duckling in China who lives on a boat with his large extended family and doesn’t realize what a cozy existence he has until he spends a day on his own.
Ping is a very diligent duck. He knows that the last duck to enter the boat at the end of the day will get a spanking, so he is always careful to arrive early. But one day, he is distracted and ends up running late. He knows that if he joins his family, he will be the last one on the boat, so instead he hides until the boat is out of sight, and he spends the night in a cozy patch of grass near the river. So far, so good. But with the daylight comes an important lesson in the disadvantages of an isolated existence.
I love the illustrations in this book, which seem to be a mixture of media. At times, the landscapes and characters are soft and look as though they were done with colored pencil, while other times there are solid patches of color that look like the work of paint. I prefer the softer portions, but having both allows for interesting variety in the illustrations. The setting is intriguing, as it’s one that is probably foreign to most young American readers. We are told that the location is the Yangtze River. Meanwhile, the “once upon a time” and the antiquated-looking clothing and vessels suggest that the time period was well in the past even in 1933.
One of the most interesting details, and one I’d nearly forgotten about before I reread this, involves the birds that Ping sees fishing for their master on a longboat. These birds catch large fish and deliver them to the man in the boat, who rewards them with minnows. What Ping comes to realize is that the birds have bands around their necks preventing them from eating the larger fish. I wouldn’t say that Ping is in any real danger of being swept up into the service of this fisherman, but seeing these truly captive birds must give him a deeper appreciation for his home situation. A little spank on the bottom suddenly doesn’t seem so harsh.
The truly scary part comes in when a little boy lures Ping to his boat with bits of rice cake, intending to keep him as a pet. Ping spends most of the day trapped under a basket, and what’s worse, the boy’s family plans to cook him up for dinner. Here we experience kindness alongside the hostility of the outside world, for the boy, so proud of his accomplishment, releases his prisoner, an action that will most likely result in punishment. Initially, we’re inclined to look at the boy in a villainous light, but he turns out to be a hero and a role model, showing how one rather small but courageous act of kindness can make an enormous impact on someone else.
I love this story for its winning illustrations, its adventure and most of all for its gentle lessons. In the course of one very enlightening day, this yellow fellow comes to understand that, even as handsome and resourceful as he is, no duck is an island. The Story About Ping earns my warmest recommendation.
This Little House Went to the City - And Longs to Return Home
Be careful what you wish for. There’s no place like home. These are two adages that sprang to mind as I read Virginia Lee Burton’s Caldecott-winning The Little House.
But mostly, what I thought was, “Boy, urban development sure has
changed the landscape of the country, hasn’t it?” And not necessarily
for the better.
In this story, first published in 1942, we meet the Little House, a charming pinkish-red cottage with a cheerful little chimney, smiling window-eyes and a front porch curved into a gentle smile. She’s a happy little home secure in the knowledge that she will “never be sold, for gold or silver” and that she will stand firm for generations. So she does. But a funny thing happens as the years pass by and the children and grandchildren of the man who built her take over ownership. The world begins to change.
We’re never given any exact dates for this story, but there are four generations between the building of the house and the tale’s conclusion. It’s reasonable to assume, at least, that more than a century has passed. In that span of time, the house watches as her surroundings become unrecognizable. Page by page, Burton shows us the slow encroachment of the city upon the idyllic countryside where the house rests. Initially, the lights of the city are far in the distance, piquing the house’s curiosity. By the time she comes to understand what the city is really like, she no longer finds it compelling. All she wants is to return to her quiet hill in the countryside, where she is surrounded by green grass and fresh breezes instead of high-rises and honking cars.
Burton describes the changes that occur in simple, repetitive language that at times becomes almost tedious, particularly toward the end of the book when every other sentence begins with “pretty soon”. I suspect, though, that she intended this as a device by which to indicate the speed of “progress” in comparison with the very slow unfolding of the seasons demonstrated early in the book. The pace of the story definitely picks up about halfway through; the first real indication of man-made change is on page 12, when, to the house, “the lights of the city seemed brighter and closer.”
First comes a road cutting through the field. Before long, many little houses dot the hillside, and the blue sky begins to be tinged with gray. Still the house smiles resolutely. But when apartment complexes go up, and then an elevated train and skyscraping office buildings, she seems to shrink and lose all of her color as her porch sags in despair. If this is what it means to live in the great, bustling city, the time has come to dream of the country.
I’d hesitate to say that the woman who managed to make a piece of construction equipment such an appealing character in Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel is completely opposed to urban development. Nonetheless, she definitely seems to favor small towns rather than concrete jungles, and to regard the country above both. I catch a hint of the conservationism and disillusionment with the Industrial Revolution so evident in the life and works of such authors as Beatrix Potter, J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. Unlike those three, Burton was American, but the changes to the landscape here have certainly been just as dramatic as in the UK.
The Little House offers a powerful illustration of the fast pace of development while concluding on a sweet note that is at least temporarily optimistic. The story ends well for the house, though I can’t help wondering how long it will take for history to repeat itself. It’s a little dark for a book aimed at children in early elementary school, but then that’s probably the age when it’s likeliest to make a strong impression, encouraging future generations to temper progress with preservation so that there will always be places where one can watch the seasons pass and soak in the quiet splendor of the stars.
In this story, first published in 1942, we meet the Little House, a charming pinkish-red cottage with a cheerful little chimney, smiling window-eyes and a front porch curved into a gentle smile. She’s a happy little home secure in the knowledge that she will “never be sold, for gold or silver” and that she will stand firm for generations. So she does. But a funny thing happens as the years pass by and the children and grandchildren of the man who built her take over ownership. The world begins to change.
We’re never given any exact dates for this story, but there are four generations between the building of the house and the tale’s conclusion. It’s reasonable to assume, at least, that more than a century has passed. In that span of time, the house watches as her surroundings become unrecognizable. Page by page, Burton shows us the slow encroachment of the city upon the idyllic countryside where the house rests. Initially, the lights of the city are far in the distance, piquing the house’s curiosity. By the time she comes to understand what the city is really like, she no longer finds it compelling. All she wants is to return to her quiet hill in the countryside, where she is surrounded by green grass and fresh breezes instead of high-rises and honking cars.
Burton describes the changes that occur in simple, repetitive language that at times becomes almost tedious, particularly toward the end of the book when every other sentence begins with “pretty soon”. I suspect, though, that she intended this as a device by which to indicate the speed of “progress” in comparison with the very slow unfolding of the seasons demonstrated early in the book. The pace of the story definitely picks up about halfway through; the first real indication of man-made change is on page 12, when, to the house, “the lights of the city seemed brighter and closer.”
First comes a road cutting through the field. Before long, many little houses dot the hillside, and the blue sky begins to be tinged with gray. Still the house smiles resolutely. But when apartment complexes go up, and then an elevated train and skyscraping office buildings, she seems to shrink and lose all of her color as her porch sags in despair. If this is what it means to live in the great, bustling city, the time has come to dream of the country.
I’d hesitate to say that the woman who managed to make a piece of construction equipment such an appealing character in Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel is completely opposed to urban development. Nonetheless, she definitely seems to favor small towns rather than concrete jungles, and to regard the country above both. I catch a hint of the conservationism and disillusionment with the Industrial Revolution so evident in the life and works of such authors as Beatrix Potter, J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. Unlike those three, Burton was American, but the changes to the landscape here have certainly been just as dramatic as in the UK.
The Little House offers a powerful illustration of the fast pace of development while concluding on a sweet note that is at least temporarily optimistic. The story ends well for the house, though I can’t help wondering how long it will take for history to repeat itself. It’s a little dark for a book aimed at children in early elementary school, but then that’s probably the age when it’s likeliest to make a strong impression, encouraging future generations to temper progress with preservation so that there will always be places where one can watch the seasons pass and soak in the quiet splendor of the stars.
Paul Byrom Is a Prince of a Guy in If I Could Cry
On February 9, Celtic Thunder’s It’s Entertainment! will land in
stores. I’m gearing up for it by listening to the songs I already have
from these talented musicians, both as a group and as individuals. On
the solo front, I’ve been paying quite a few visits to Ryan Kelly’s
MySpace page, particularly to listen to his cover of Julie Miller’s Broken Things and his original The Village That They Call the Moy,
both of which have had a secure spot in my list of favorite songs since
I first heard them last summer. But Ryan, like groupmates George
Donaldson, Damian McGinty and Keith Harkin, has no official recordings
for sale. The only member of Celtic Thunder who does is Paul Byrom,
who’s got quite an impressive headstart in the form of two albums - Velvet and I’ll Be Home for Christmas - and an MP3 track released late in 2009.
If I Could Cry is one of several songs recorded by various singers to help spread awareness of the new musical Sleeping Beauty, written by Trisha Ward. A fresh take on the beloved story, it involves Rosie, a cowed young librarian who escapes into the pages of the classic fairy tale and finds real life and fantasy entwining in unforeseeable ways. Because information on the play thus far is limited (available at www.sleepingbeautythemusical.com), we have to guess a bit at context, but it seems safe to say that Paul Byrom is portraying Rosie’s love interest, the prince whose kiss will charm her into wakefulness. And my, is he a sensitive soul!
While this recording and its accompanying music video are not directly related to Celtic Thunder, the poetic persona Paul adopts in the group remains. Here, he comes across as a man hopelessly smitten, longing to earn the regard of the woman he has come to love. The song starts off fairly quiet, with Paul softly singing of his desire to take on his ladylove’s pain. There’s a definite sense of vulnerability in the beginning, which is probably my favorite part, though it’s always a bit of a thrill to hear him finally reach those glory notes at the song’s most triumphant point.
Backed by heavy orchestration, Paul’s operatic background is evident, and there are several opportunities for him to really show of the power his voice is capable of. At the same time, he’s very emotive, and as a particular fan of musicals and songs that reveal character, I commend him for putting so much personality into his performance, allowing us to fall in love with this princely fellow all at once even though this song presumably comes toward the end of the play.
In addition to listening to the song, I recommend watching the video, which is readily available on YouTube. Directed by John Stephenson, it’s the first honest-to-goodness music video I’ve seen from anyone in Celtic Thunder; the group videos, thus far, are beautifully filmed but simply concert performances. The closest thing to a real music video is Christmas 1915, which is separate from the concert DVDs and features thematically appropriate props and costumes, along with a gentle snowfall.
All the same, this feels much more like a music video in the MTV sense of the word, with frequently intercutting scenes and a definite storyline that we’re being shown. I haven’t been able to find out the name of the actress who portrays Sleeping Beauty in the video, but she’s as much as part of it as Paul is. We alternate between scenes of her upstairs in her bed, sometimes with him nearby, and one or both of them out in the stylized gardens in the courtyard. Paul sometimes wears a contemporary-looking black suit, while at other times he dresses in a manner befitting a fairy tale pauper and, still others, a prince. She, too, has different costumes. The video also alternates between the relative darkness of her room with the shadows representative of her apparently troubled state of mind and the exuberantly sunny outdoors, which matches the enormous smiles Paul flashes toward the end.
I’ll be curious to see where this musical goes and whether there might be a place for Paul in the cast in the future. From this one song, along with what I’ve already seen and heard from him in his recordings on his own and with Celtic Thunder, I have no doubt he would make a charming prince indeed.
If I Could Cry is one of several songs recorded by various singers to help spread awareness of the new musical Sleeping Beauty, written by Trisha Ward. A fresh take on the beloved story, it involves Rosie, a cowed young librarian who escapes into the pages of the classic fairy tale and finds real life and fantasy entwining in unforeseeable ways. Because information on the play thus far is limited (available at www.sleepingbeautythemusical.com), we have to guess a bit at context, but it seems safe to say that Paul Byrom is portraying Rosie’s love interest, the prince whose kiss will charm her into wakefulness. And my, is he a sensitive soul!
While this recording and its accompanying music video are not directly related to Celtic Thunder, the poetic persona Paul adopts in the group remains. Here, he comes across as a man hopelessly smitten, longing to earn the regard of the woman he has come to love. The song starts off fairly quiet, with Paul softly singing of his desire to take on his ladylove’s pain. There’s a definite sense of vulnerability in the beginning, which is probably my favorite part, though it’s always a bit of a thrill to hear him finally reach those glory notes at the song’s most triumphant point.
Backed by heavy orchestration, Paul’s operatic background is evident, and there are several opportunities for him to really show of the power his voice is capable of. At the same time, he’s very emotive, and as a particular fan of musicals and songs that reveal character, I commend him for putting so much personality into his performance, allowing us to fall in love with this princely fellow all at once even though this song presumably comes toward the end of the play.
In addition to listening to the song, I recommend watching the video, which is readily available on YouTube. Directed by John Stephenson, it’s the first honest-to-goodness music video I’ve seen from anyone in Celtic Thunder; the group videos, thus far, are beautifully filmed but simply concert performances. The closest thing to a real music video is Christmas 1915, which is separate from the concert DVDs and features thematically appropriate props and costumes, along with a gentle snowfall.
All the same, this feels much more like a music video in the MTV sense of the word, with frequently intercutting scenes and a definite storyline that we’re being shown. I haven’t been able to find out the name of the actress who portrays Sleeping Beauty in the video, but she’s as much as part of it as Paul is. We alternate between scenes of her upstairs in her bed, sometimes with him nearby, and one or both of them out in the stylized gardens in the courtyard. Paul sometimes wears a contemporary-looking black suit, while at other times he dresses in a manner befitting a fairy tale pauper and, still others, a prince. She, too, has different costumes. The video also alternates between the relative darkness of her room with the shadows representative of her apparently troubled state of mind and the exuberantly sunny outdoors, which matches the enormous smiles Paul flashes toward the end.
I’ll be curious to see where this musical goes and whether there might be a place for Paul in the cast in the future. From this one song, along with what I’ve already seen and heard from him in his recordings on his own and with Celtic Thunder, I have no doubt he would make a charming prince indeed.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Meet the Robinsons Isn't Pixar, But It Is Terrific
Ever since I started seeing previews for it, I’ve been curious about 2007’s Meet the Robinsons.
This was partly because it was computer-animated, but not in
collaboration with Pixar. I also found myself chortling over a couple of
scenes in the previews, those involving the hyper woman in the lab coat
with caffeine patches and the Tyrannosaurus Rex who can’t fulfill his
mission because he has a big head and little arms. On the other hand, I
hadn’t been much impressed with Chicken Little, and I feared I
might have the same reaction to this Disney flick. I finally saw it, and
happily, it was better than I expected.
Lewis (Daniel Hansen / Jordan Fry) is an exceedingly clever but lonely lad. He’s spent all of his 12 years in an orphanage run by the kind-hearted Mildred (Angela Bassett); though she treats him well, he longs to leave, to have a family of his own. But he’s undergone 124 adoption interviews, and somehow, he’s failed to attract a single set of parents. His inventions have a way of scaring people off. But when Mildred suggests that the mother who abandoned him might have done so out of necessity rather than lack of love, he becomes obsessed with finding her. To that end, he toils for days on a memory scanner that will allow him to retrieve an image of his mother from the depths of his memory.
When the day of the science fair finally arrives, Lewis is convinced that he has succeeded. But testing the machine out leads to disaster, thanks to the interference of a teenage boy named Wilbur Robinson (Wesley Singerman) who claims to be a secret agent from the future and a sinister man (director Stephen J. Anderson) dressed in black, from his shoes to his signature bowler hat. Wilbur insists that Lewis must return to the science fair and try again, but he’s hardly in the mood, so to give credence to his case, Wilbur whisks Lewis off to the future in his time machine. Lewis is suitably impressed - but then the time machine crashes, and until he can figure out how to fix it, he’s stuck in the future, surrounded by an extended, eccentric family and pursued by a villain with a definite axe to grind.
In some ways, Meet the Robinsons is a pretty silly movie. With all of Lewis’s unstable inventions, there are explosions aplenty, and once he is introduced to the Robinson family in the future, the mayhem really begins. Wilbur’s mom teaches singing to frogs. The family has an octopus for a butler, and toothless Grandpa has a funny habit of walking around with his clothes on backwards. The future is full of eye-popping sights, like people traveling around in bubbles or dogs wearing glasses. It’s all very well suited to animation, and thankfully the characters look much better here than they did in Chicken Little.
But this movie isn’t just an excuse to show off in the visual department or to elicit giggles over slapstick. No, it’s the story of a pair of orphans, Lewis and his roommate Goob (Matthew Josten), both oddballs looking for families to love them. In that way, it reminds me quite a bit of Angels in the Outfield. Lewis, like Roger, is particularly focused on reclaiming a connection to his biological parent. Unlike Roger, he is a man of science, and so he turns to his experiments to help him achieve his dream of a real home. What he finds in the future is that there are many different ways to make a family and that love is the most important ingredient.
Because this takes place in the not-so-distant future, it’s fun to look at those Lewis meets and contemplate whether we might have seen them before in Lewis’s own time. The story behind Bowler Hat Guy is especially interesting. I guessed his connection to Lewis fairly early on, but that didn’t make his back story any less interesting or his antics any less entertaining. As villains go, he’s pretty nonthreatening; he reminded me very much of Count Olaf from A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Jim Carrey even was invited to provide his voice. He is over-the-top and easily bested by smarter, more accomplished parties, not to mention manipulated by a reprehensible (albeit comical) henchman. Despite his drive for revenge, he rarely comes across as truly vicious, and one of my favorite aspects of the movie is the fact that he is offered a shot at redemption.
Although I would never confuse this with a Pixar movie, it’s still a very high-quality film, with a tender message or two to go along with the futuristic hi-jinks. It’s a little bit Lost In Space and a little bit Back to the Future, but mostly it’s a whole lot of fun, culminating in a lesson from Walt Disney himself to “keep moving forward” because “curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.” I wouldn’t hesitate to introduce anyone to these Robinsons.
Lewis (Daniel Hansen / Jordan Fry) is an exceedingly clever but lonely lad. He’s spent all of his 12 years in an orphanage run by the kind-hearted Mildred (Angela Bassett); though she treats him well, he longs to leave, to have a family of his own. But he’s undergone 124 adoption interviews, and somehow, he’s failed to attract a single set of parents. His inventions have a way of scaring people off. But when Mildred suggests that the mother who abandoned him might have done so out of necessity rather than lack of love, he becomes obsessed with finding her. To that end, he toils for days on a memory scanner that will allow him to retrieve an image of his mother from the depths of his memory.
When the day of the science fair finally arrives, Lewis is convinced that he has succeeded. But testing the machine out leads to disaster, thanks to the interference of a teenage boy named Wilbur Robinson (Wesley Singerman) who claims to be a secret agent from the future and a sinister man (director Stephen J. Anderson) dressed in black, from his shoes to his signature bowler hat. Wilbur insists that Lewis must return to the science fair and try again, but he’s hardly in the mood, so to give credence to his case, Wilbur whisks Lewis off to the future in his time machine. Lewis is suitably impressed - but then the time machine crashes, and until he can figure out how to fix it, he’s stuck in the future, surrounded by an extended, eccentric family and pursued by a villain with a definite axe to grind.
In some ways, Meet the Robinsons is a pretty silly movie. With all of Lewis’s unstable inventions, there are explosions aplenty, and once he is introduced to the Robinson family in the future, the mayhem really begins. Wilbur’s mom teaches singing to frogs. The family has an octopus for a butler, and toothless Grandpa has a funny habit of walking around with his clothes on backwards. The future is full of eye-popping sights, like people traveling around in bubbles or dogs wearing glasses. It’s all very well suited to animation, and thankfully the characters look much better here than they did in Chicken Little.
But this movie isn’t just an excuse to show off in the visual department or to elicit giggles over slapstick. No, it’s the story of a pair of orphans, Lewis and his roommate Goob (Matthew Josten), both oddballs looking for families to love them. In that way, it reminds me quite a bit of Angels in the Outfield. Lewis, like Roger, is particularly focused on reclaiming a connection to his biological parent. Unlike Roger, he is a man of science, and so he turns to his experiments to help him achieve his dream of a real home. What he finds in the future is that there are many different ways to make a family and that love is the most important ingredient.
Because this takes place in the not-so-distant future, it’s fun to look at those Lewis meets and contemplate whether we might have seen them before in Lewis’s own time. The story behind Bowler Hat Guy is especially interesting. I guessed his connection to Lewis fairly early on, but that didn’t make his back story any less interesting or his antics any less entertaining. As villains go, he’s pretty nonthreatening; he reminded me very much of Count Olaf from A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Jim Carrey even was invited to provide his voice. He is over-the-top and easily bested by smarter, more accomplished parties, not to mention manipulated by a reprehensible (albeit comical) henchman. Despite his drive for revenge, he rarely comes across as truly vicious, and one of my favorite aspects of the movie is the fact that he is offered a shot at redemption.
Although I would never confuse this with a Pixar movie, it’s still a very high-quality film, with a tender message or two to go along with the futuristic hi-jinks. It’s a little bit Lost In Space and a little bit Back to the Future, but mostly it’s a whole lot of fun, culminating in a lesson from Walt Disney himself to “keep moving forward” because “curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.” I wouldn’t hesitate to introduce anyone to these Robinsons.
Anthony Hopkins and Anne Bancroft Nurture a Long-Distance Friendship in 84 Charing Cross Road
The other day, I watched The Shop Around the Corner,
the 1940 movie starring Jimmy Stewart and Margaret Sullavan as two
quarrelsome shop employees who don’t realize that they’re falling in
love with each other through correspondence. I presume this movie was
the reason my eyes settled upon 84 Charing Cross Road when I was
browsing Netflix’s Instant Viewing selections last night. It’s also the
main reason I expected a romance - though Netflix’s categorization
explains some of that too. This engrossing film starring Anne Bancroft
and Anthony Hopkins really isn’t a romance at all, but it is the story
of a profound friendship blooming between two people on different
continents.
Bancroft plays Helene Hanff, a fiery script reader (and eventual writer) scraping a living in New York City. Her great passion is English literature, and we watch her pound the pavement, checking out every bookstore in town and finding that each comes up short on offering what she’s really looking for. In desperation, she writes to an "antiquarian" bookshop in London with a list of books and a request to send her any that can be sold for less than five dollars a piece. Frank P. Doel, senior bookseller at this establishment, sends two of the requested books immediately, and at a very reasonable price. And so an international friendship is born.
This movie, based on a true story, spans about 20 years and is told almost entirely through letters. Usually it’s Bancroft or Hopkins speaking, but eventually others in the bookshop, along with Frank’s wife Nora (Judi Dench), write to Helene as well. All of them are fascinated by her letters, written with such spunk and wit, and grateful for the packages she sends for holidays, particularly because of the food rationing going on in England at the time. I was a little disappointed when I realized that Frank was married; I envisioned a fairly lengthy correspondence, followed by Helene finally coming to London (which we see her do in the film’s opening scene) and throwing herself into Frank’s waiting arms. Not quite. But the fact that half a dozen others are caught up in the excitement of this letter exchange makes it even more interesting. Frank is still her primary correspondent, but eventually she has a sizable group waiting to welcome her to London for a visit.
I found myself reminded of the opening scenes of Up as I watched, since Helene’s dream of going to London is so often set aside for mundane expenses like rent and root canals. Initially, she intends to visit a couple of years into their correspondence, but life gets in the way. As the years wear on, various members of the bookstore staff die or move on to other jobs, and the big question becomes whether she will make it to London in time to meet Frank, a typically reserved Hopkins character whose emotional attachment to Helene is nonetheless plainly apparent as he reads her letters and composes his.
Bancroft is very funny in her role as this independent woman who knows exactly what she wants. Her letters are often bitingly sarcastic; she never bothers to hide her disdain for poorly edited or abridged copies of books, and her caustic observations bear the mark of a high intellect. Yet Frank, who nearly always sends the books first and encloses an invoice, never gets any of the books back. Even if she loathes the copy he found for her, she keeps it and pays him accordingly, though usually sternly instructing him to find her something better. His letters are much more restrained than hers; he never loses his professionalism, though he sometimes allows himself a sly remark or two. Even more than his words, his tireless efforts to find the books she desires, and his refusal to charge her a penny more than necessary, demonstrate his dedication to his vocation and his special fondness for her.
Because this movie stretches across two decades, there is a bittersweet edge to it, but it’s a lovely film that never becomes boring, at least for someone who loves literature and who understands the power of friendships born through correspondence. It’s also an interesting peek into history, as significant events, from the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II to protests at Columbia University, punctuate the more intimate details of Frank and Helene’s lives. The supporting cast all do a fine job, especially Ian McNiece as Frank’s right-hand man, Bill Humphries, but this movie really lies in the hands, or rather tongues, of Hopkins and Bancroft, two celebrated actors who I’ve rarely enjoyed more. Next time you’re looking for a cozy, intellectually stimulating movie, consider a visit to 84 Charing Cross Road.
Bancroft plays Helene Hanff, a fiery script reader (and eventual writer) scraping a living in New York City. Her great passion is English literature, and we watch her pound the pavement, checking out every bookstore in town and finding that each comes up short on offering what she’s really looking for. In desperation, she writes to an "antiquarian" bookshop in London with a list of books and a request to send her any that can be sold for less than five dollars a piece. Frank P. Doel, senior bookseller at this establishment, sends two of the requested books immediately, and at a very reasonable price. And so an international friendship is born.
This movie, based on a true story, spans about 20 years and is told almost entirely through letters. Usually it’s Bancroft or Hopkins speaking, but eventually others in the bookshop, along with Frank’s wife Nora (Judi Dench), write to Helene as well. All of them are fascinated by her letters, written with such spunk and wit, and grateful for the packages she sends for holidays, particularly because of the food rationing going on in England at the time. I was a little disappointed when I realized that Frank was married; I envisioned a fairly lengthy correspondence, followed by Helene finally coming to London (which we see her do in the film’s opening scene) and throwing herself into Frank’s waiting arms. Not quite. But the fact that half a dozen others are caught up in the excitement of this letter exchange makes it even more interesting. Frank is still her primary correspondent, but eventually she has a sizable group waiting to welcome her to London for a visit.
I found myself reminded of the opening scenes of Up as I watched, since Helene’s dream of going to London is so often set aside for mundane expenses like rent and root canals. Initially, she intends to visit a couple of years into their correspondence, but life gets in the way. As the years wear on, various members of the bookstore staff die or move on to other jobs, and the big question becomes whether she will make it to London in time to meet Frank, a typically reserved Hopkins character whose emotional attachment to Helene is nonetheless plainly apparent as he reads her letters and composes his.
Bancroft is very funny in her role as this independent woman who knows exactly what she wants. Her letters are often bitingly sarcastic; she never bothers to hide her disdain for poorly edited or abridged copies of books, and her caustic observations bear the mark of a high intellect. Yet Frank, who nearly always sends the books first and encloses an invoice, never gets any of the books back. Even if she loathes the copy he found for her, she keeps it and pays him accordingly, though usually sternly instructing him to find her something better. His letters are much more restrained than hers; he never loses his professionalism, though he sometimes allows himself a sly remark or two. Even more than his words, his tireless efforts to find the books she desires, and his refusal to charge her a penny more than necessary, demonstrate his dedication to his vocation and his special fondness for her.
Because this movie stretches across two decades, there is a bittersweet edge to it, but it’s a lovely film that never becomes boring, at least for someone who loves literature and who understands the power of friendships born through correspondence. It’s also an interesting peek into history, as significant events, from the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II to protests at Columbia University, punctuate the more intimate details of Frank and Helene’s lives. The supporting cast all do a fine job, especially Ian McNiece as Frank’s right-hand man, Bill Humphries, but this movie really lies in the hands, or rather tongues, of Hopkins and Bancroft, two celebrated actors who I’ve rarely enjoyed more. Next time you’re looking for a cozy, intellectually stimulating movie, consider a visit to 84 Charing Cross Road.
Around Epinions: Get a Taste of Scotland and the Arts at Edinboro University
Back in 2001, I spent a weekend in Edinburgh, Scotland, with a classmate
in a five-week summer program in Northampton, England. As our kilted
tour guide led us through the city, my friend remarked on how neat it
was to be in Edinburgh, as she was from Edinboro, Pennsylvania. I was
somewhat surprised that, after visiting Dublin, London, Cambridge and a
number of other fascinating cities, our time in Edinburgh turned out to
be my favorite part of that five-week trip - though if our week-long
stay in Galway hadn’t been cancelled, my conclusion might have been
different. But it’s a gorgeous city, brimming with history, culture and
natural beauty, not to mention oodles of appealing accents. Edinboro is
no Edinburgh. But it’s still a pleasant town that I’ve gotten to know a
lot better since my brother started attending college at the university
there in 2006.
Edinboro is about a 40-minute drive away from where I live in Erie, Pennsylvania. That’s an easy distance for us to travel, especially on weekends, so we’ve made it out there many times. The campus is easy to navigate, and one of the things I like about it is that many of the streets have Scotland-themed names. Expect to see a lot of plaid when you go to Edinboro, and if you’re lucky (well, depending on your musical tastes), you might catch the sounds of bagpipes on a breeze. I have a couple of times, and it’s definitely added a smile to my day.
In addition to permanent fixtures of the campus that reflect a Scottish heritage, Edinboro has the Highland Games, a weekend event full of traditional food and music that offers opportunities to compete in such areas as dance, fiddle-playing and drumming, as well as rigorous sporting events. Usually, there seems to be at least a bit of rainy weather to go along with the festivities, but that doesn’t dampen many spirits. It’s a really neat tradition that helps establish Edinboro’s unique identity. The University also has a Pipe Band, and its fight song is a version of Scotland the Brave.
Edinboro attracts students from a wide variety of backgrounds and interests, but a particularly strong focus is art. That’s what attracted Nathan, who is majoring in Painting. He’s taken a number of intensive courses on subjects ranging from Print-making to Woodworking, which resulted in a handsome table that resided in our living room for most of last year. Now that he’s nearing the end of his time at Edinboro, he has the opportunity to display his work more prominently; in December, he had his own show in the Bates Gallery in Loveland Hall, which featured portraits he had done in various media. He has been extremely happy with his instructors in this area. Many of his fellow art students come to Edinboro with an interest in animation; the university has produced several graduates who went on to work for places like Disney, Pixar and Industrial Light and Magic. Edinboro University is also known for being extremely accessible to disabled students. Wheelchairs are a common sight, as it has one of the largest populations of handicapped students in the country.
Another area of interest for Nathan has been performing arts. This department is not as prominent as the visual arts, and the primary performance space, the Diebold Center for the Performing Arts is fairly small, though it is an attractive and comfortable theatre. He has had the chance to both act in and direct plays there, and I have always been impressed with the caliber of performances that we have seen from all students involved.
Currently, Edinboro’s president is Dr. Jeremy Brown. Hailing from Manchester, he has been at Edinboro a bit longer than Nathan has, and he has shown himself to be a passionate, hands-on leader, working tirelessly to promote the university in the greater Erie area and beyond. He’s also made an effort to get to know the students through a variety of campus events, and on the whole he has been the most visible president they’ve had in quite some time.
Edinboro University is home to about 8000 students, with about 400 faculty. It offers 15 intercollegiate sports and more than 100 different student organizations along with more than 100 degree programs and upwards of 50 minors. The 585-acre campus includes 43 buildings and scenic woods and fields, as well as a lake where Nathan often strolls to observe the ducks. While I’m still partial to my own college campus of Penn State Erie, the Behrend College, Edinboro is a very attractive place to visit, particularly during the autumn when all of the trees are changing color. Winter, on the other hand, can be problematic because Edinboro gets so much snow; on a few occasions, we’ve missed out on events because the weather was so prohibitive. Full-time tuition per semester ranges from about $3700 for an undergrad who is a PA resident to $6500 for a graduate student who is from out of state. On-campus housing is about $2400, while most meal plans cost upwards of $1000.
Near the campus are several other housing options; my brother has lived in two different apartment complexes and found both to be satisfactory. Away from campus, there are plenty of places to go in terms of shopping and eating. Perkins is a favorite hangout for college students, as are a couple of local pizza places. In the summertime, an ice cream stand on the way out of town is a popular fixture. There are several small, locally-owned shops where a variety of unique items can be found, and for the basics, there’s a Walmart, at which a kilted piper version of the yellow smiley face is painted on the wall in the entryway. The Millcreek Mall and Peach Street, Erie’s central shopping area, is only about a twenty-minute drive away.
I don’t know when I’m going to make it to Edinburgh again. But it’s nice to know that I can always get a little taste of Scotland by traveling to Edinboro, and though I haven’t attended any classes there myself, the university has certainly turned out to be a good fit for my brother.
Edinboro is about a 40-minute drive away from where I live in Erie, Pennsylvania. That’s an easy distance for us to travel, especially on weekends, so we’ve made it out there many times. The campus is easy to navigate, and one of the things I like about it is that many of the streets have Scotland-themed names. Expect to see a lot of plaid when you go to Edinboro, and if you’re lucky (well, depending on your musical tastes), you might catch the sounds of bagpipes on a breeze. I have a couple of times, and it’s definitely added a smile to my day.
In addition to permanent fixtures of the campus that reflect a Scottish heritage, Edinboro has the Highland Games, a weekend event full of traditional food and music that offers opportunities to compete in such areas as dance, fiddle-playing and drumming, as well as rigorous sporting events. Usually, there seems to be at least a bit of rainy weather to go along with the festivities, but that doesn’t dampen many spirits. It’s a really neat tradition that helps establish Edinboro’s unique identity. The University also has a Pipe Band, and its fight song is a version of Scotland the Brave.
Edinboro attracts students from a wide variety of backgrounds and interests, but a particularly strong focus is art. That’s what attracted Nathan, who is majoring in Painting. He’s taken a number of intensive courses on subjects ranging from Print-making to Woodworking, which resulted in a handsome table that resided in our living room for most of last year. Now that he’s nearing the end of his time at Edinboro, he has the opportunity to display his work more prominently; in December, he had his own show in the Bates Gallery in Loveland Hall, which featured portraits he had done in various media. He has been extremely happy with his instructors in this area. Many of his fellow art students come to Edinboro with an interest in animation; the university has produced several graduates who went on to work for places like Disney, Pixar and Industrial Light and Magic. Edinboro University is also known for being extremely accessible to disabled students. Wheelchairs are a common sight, as it has one of the largest populations of handicapped students in the country.
Another area of interest for Nathan has been performing arts. This department is not as prominent as the visual arts, and the primary performance space, the Diebold Center for the Performing Arts is fairly small, though it is an attractive and comfortable theatre. He has had the chance to both act in and direct plays there, and I have always been impressed with the caliber of performances that we have seen from all students involved.
Currently, Edinboro’s president is Dr. Jeremy Brown. Hailing from Manchester, he has been at Edinboro a bit longer than Nathan has, and he has shown himself to be a passionate, hands-on leader, working tirelessly to promote the university in the greater Erie area and beyond. He’s also made an effort to get to know the students through a variety of campus events, and on the whole he has been the most visible president they’ve had in quite some time.
Edinboro University is home to about 8000 students, with about 400 faculty. It offers 15 intercollegiate sports and more than 100 different student organizations along with more than 100 degree programs and upwards of 50 minors. The 585-acre campus includes 43 buildings and scenic woods and fields, as well as a lake where Nathan often strolls to observe the ducks. While I’m still partial to my own college campus of Penn State Erie, the Behrend College, Edinboro is a very attractive place to visit, particularly during the autumn when all of the trees are changing color. Winter, on the other hand, can be problematic because Edinboro gets so much snow; on a few occasions, we’ve missed out on events because the weather was so prohibitive. Full-time tuition per semester ranges from about $3700 for an undergrad who is a PA resident to $6500 for a graduate student who is from out of state. On-campus housing is about $2400, while most meal plans cost upwards of $1000.
Near the campus are several other housing options; my brother has lived in two different apartment complexes and found both to be satisfactory. Away from campus, there are plenty of places to go in terms of shopping and eating. Perkins is a favorite hangout for college students, as are a couple of local pizza places. In the summertime, an ice cream stand on the way out of town is a popular fixture. There are several small, locally-owned shops where a variety of unique items can be found, and for the basics, there’s a Walmart, at which a kilted piper version of the yellow smiley face is painted on the wall in the entryway. The Millcreek Mall and Peach Street, Erie’s central shopping area, is only about a twenty-minute drive away.
I don’t know when I’m going to make it to Edinburgh again. But it’s nice to know that I can always get a little taste of Scotland by traveling to Edinboro, and though I haven’t attended any classes there myself, the university has certainly turned out to be a good fit for my brother.
Monday, January 25, 2010
David Wiesner Explores Mysterious Fathoms Below in Flotsam
The first time I encountered the word “flotsam” was when I saw The Little Mermaid
in second grade. I had to ask for an explanation behind the names of
Ursula’s pet eels, Flotsam and Jetsam, and I learned that flotsam is
material that floats on the surface of the water. In David Wiesner’s Flotsam,
the title refers to any number of objects, but most of all it refers to
the underwater camera found by a boy who is spending the day at the
beach. Wiesner shows us the boy at times, but he also shows us things
from the boy’s perspective, so we get up-close and personal with several
unusual items and especially with the photographs developed with the
film from the camera.
Flotsam is unusual first and foremost because it is a picture book in the truest sense of the word. There are no words, aside from the occasional label on an object or sign. Few pages features just one picture, though; most have several different panels of varying sizes, which allows for a lot of action in a short number of pages. One page has 13 different panels, most of which are used to illustrate the tedium of waiting for a roll of film to be developed. It only takes an hour, but given the boy’s fascination, it’s easy to understand why he is so impatient to look at those pictures.
The boy is clearly someone who is engaged with the world around him. He brings a microscope to the beach with him, along with a pair of binoculars, and his aim is to observe as much as possible. Initially, that means hobnobbing with a couple of crustaceans. But by developing the film inside the camera that washes up on shore, he has the chance to sneak a peek at the “mysterious fathoms below,” as the sailors put it in Little Mermaid‘s opening scene. And what he finds is fascinating indeed.
Wiesner’s illustrations are fun and detailed, especially once we actually get a look at the photos. It’s at this point that the book takes a turn for the fantastic, since the underwater scenes reveal fish and other undersea creatures acting in very surprising ways. For instance, on one page, several giant starfish do some stretching exercises as whales glide peacefully below them. Atop each of the starfish is a green landscape, suggesting that some of what humans take to be islands may, in fact, be alive. Which could explain a lot about LOST...
Each of the photos astounds the boy, but he lingers longest over a picture of an Asian girl holding a picture of a child who appears to be Scandinavian. With some help from his magnifying glass and microscope, he is able to see just how many children have ended up with this camera and make a guess as to how long it’s been traveling around the world. This aspect of the book reminds me of sending a message in a bottle. I’ve always wanted to do that, especially since I’ve read stories of those messages being found and of a long-distance friendship being formed. That’s sort of the idea here, but instead of worrying about getting in contact with the previous finder, the plan is to pay it forward, giving some other child somewhere the joy of finding something so unusual.
Wiesner received the Caldecott Medal for this wordless but wonderfully creative story. No doubt that’s one of the reasons it was included in 1001 Children’s Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up. The illustrations are beautiful, especially the underwater depictions. What’s more, it’s an engaging story. I can imagine it being transformed into a short film, much the way Raymond Briggs‘ The Snowman was. This, too, is a story of friendship, but of a different kind. Its main character becomes an exclusive member of a brotherhood of like-minded children spanning more than a century. I would think this could come across even more dynamically with some animation. But any child whose frame of mind is suitably similar to that of the boy who finds the camera could find Flotsam quite dynamic enough as is.
Flotsam is unusual first and foremost because it is a picture book in the truest sense of the word. There are no words, aside from the occasional label on an object or sign. Few pages features just one picture, though; most have several different panels of varying sizes, which allows for a lot of action in a short number of pages. One page has 13 different panels, most of which are used to illustrate the tedium of waiting for a roll of film to be developed. It only takes an hour, but given the boy’s fascination, it’s easy to understand why he is so impatient to look at those pictures.
The boy is clearly someone who is engaged with the world around him. He brings a microscope to the beach with him, along with a pair of binoculars, and his aim is to observe as much as possible. Initially, that means hobnobbing with a couple of crustaceans. But by developing the film inside the camera that washes up on shore, he has the chance to sneak a peek at the “mysterious fathoms below,” as the sailors put it in Little Mermaid‘s opening scene. And what he finds is fascinating indeed.
Wiesner’s illustrations are fun and detailed, especially once we actually get a look at the photos. It’s at this point that the book takes a turn for the fantastic, since the underwater scenes reveal fish and other undersea creatures acting in very surprising ways. For instance, on one page, several giant starfish do some stretching exercises as whales glide peacefully below them. Atop each of the starfish is a green landscape, suggesting that some of what humans take to be islands may, in fact, be alive. Which could explain a lot about LOST...
Each of the photos astounds the boy, but he lingers longest over a picture of an Asian girl holding a picture of a child who appears to be Scandinavian. With some help from his magnifying glass and microscope, he is able to see just how many children have ended up with this camera and make a guess as to how long it’s been traveling around the world. This aspect of the book reminds me of sending a message in a bottle. I’ve always wanted to do that, especially since I’ve read stories of those messages being found and of a long-distance friendship being formed. That’s sort of the idea here, but instead of worrying about getting in contact with the previous finder, the plan is to pay it forward, giving some other child somewhere the joy of finding something so unusual.
Wiesner received the Caldecott Medal for this wordless but wonderfully creative story. No doubt that’s one of the reasons it was included in 1001 Children’s Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up. The illustrations are beautiful, especially the underwater depictions. What’s more, it’s an engaging story. I can imagine it being transformed into a short film, much the way Raymond Briggs‘ The Snowman was. This, too, is a story of friendship, but of a different kind. Its main character becomes an exclusive member of a brotherhood of like-minded children spanning more than a century. I would think this could come across even more dynamically with some animation. But any child whose frame of mind is suitably similar to that of the boy who finds the camera could find Flotsam quite dynamic enough as is.
Donny Osmond Bares His Soul in Life Is Just What You Make It
It’s no secret that I love Donny Osmond, and this year it was even more transparent than usual since he was on Dancing With the Stars and hence a more natural topic of conversation. Still, it caught me by surprise when my friend Libbie handed me his memoir, Life Is Just What You Make It: My Story So Far.
For one thing, I had no idea he’d written a book, nor did I realize
quite how much I’d evidently been gushing about Donny. But now I was
about to get his life’s story.
The funny thing about my fondness for Donny is that it doesn’t begin with his child star or teen dream days. Well, maybe that’s not so funny, since I was born during his career slump and he didn’t bounce back until I was nearing double digits. Still, it seems strange to me that prior to reading this book, my only familiarity with his early life as an Osmond Brother was watching the miniseries about his family. I don’t think I’ve ever listened to an Osmond Brothers album. I mean to amend that soon.
No, while I was familiar with the name, I thought of him mostly as a television personality, especially once The Donny and Marie Show started again and I was subjected to Richard Simmons screaming their names several times a day on those endless commercials. But then along came Mulan and the exceptional I’ll Make a Man Out of You, and I realized what an amazing singer Donny is. And not so long after that, I saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on PBS, and while the entire production dazzled me, it was his performance that really caught my attention, especially during the show-stopping Close Ev’ry Door. To this day, I’ve seen few performances to match the purity and sincerity of Donny singing what is probably my favorite Andrew Lloyd Weber song. (One of those, Ryan Kelly’s cover of Desperado, so enchanted me in part because it reminded me of Donny’s delivery of Close Ev’ry Door, as well as my dazed reaction.)
My Story So Far covers all of that territory, from before Donny joined the family group to after Joseph aired. Written with Patricia Romanowski, it’s a fascinating peek into the dynamics of a family who would build a media empire, only to see it crash and have to build it up again, stronger than ever. One of the endearing things about Donny is that he comes across as such a genuinely nice guy, and this book does absolutely nothing to disavow that notion. He seems incapable of truly trashing somebody; any time he expresses dissatisfaction with some element of someone’s personality, he tempers that criticism with praise of another aspect. He finds kind things to say about all sorts of people, from shock-jock Howard Stern to the group of teenagers who heckled him after a performance during his less popular years. He speaks frequently of his commitment to his Mormon faith, which helps inform many of his attitudes and habits, from abstaining from alcohol and profanity to simply being polite at every opportunity. This makes his book a refreshingly G-rated read.
One aspect of the book that I found particularly poignant in light of his death last year is that, particularly when speaking about the early days of the group, Donny compares himself to Michael Jackson. He says how he used to think that Michael was probably about the only other person on the planet who really understood what it was like to be him. Both were seventh in a line of nine children. Both joined their brothers’ groups and found themselves taking over the spotlight. They had to deal with fame from an early age and spent most of their free time practicing under the eyes of very demanding fathers. While I’ve always had a pretty negative impression of Joe Jackson, Donny presents George Osmond in a mostly positive light. It seems that he was an exacting taskmaster, but he never crossed the line into abuse like the Jackson patriarch did. Donny fondly remembers the few times when they got together as children, recalling Michael as sweet, shy and simply grateful to be able to have some normal kid time with a boy around his own age. It’s interesting to see the parallels between these two lives - strange to think how normal and well-adjusted Donny ended up being, while poor Michael, for all his talent, seemed to have little concept of how to operate in the real world.
Donny has plenty to say about many others in the music and television business as well. It’s dizzying to think of how many different people he has worked with on one project or another, from Andy Williams and Jerry Lewis to Groucho Marx and Rosie O’Donnell. But he speaks most often about his brothers, as well as his sister Marie, for whom he reserves special affection (and aggravation). Donny reflects on their beginnings as a group and the various ways in which they might have changed direction; he seems to particularly regret that his teen idol image prevented the group from truly branching out into rock and roll. He also discusses the disappointment that followed their concept album’s dismal sales, which he attributes to an excessive focus on its religious element as they promoted it. Considering his dedication to his church, I was a little surprised that he felt this way, but he was frustrated because he found that most of the songs worked on two levels but that there was no opportunity for people to listen to individual tracks from the album in a different way.
My copy of this book includes several chapters that were written a few years after the original edition. In this section, Donny says that his favorite aspect of his book is his discussion of his crippling social phobia, as his experiences have encouraged many others with similar issues to recognize that they are not alone and to get help. It’s strange to think of a man who’s been performing since the age of six freezing onstage as an adult, let alone going into a panic at the thought of returning an unwanted item to the store, but he candidly recounts this painful aspect of his life, which he overcame with lots of help from his beloved wife Debbie and his psychotherapist, Dr. Jerilyn Ross, who died earlier this month.
I can’t help wondering whether another edition of his autobiography is soon to be forthcoming, now that he’s been crowned Dancing With the Stars champion for the fall of 2009. Or perhaps that experience could be the beginning of a new book, because Donny, no doubt, has many adventures ahead of him, and I look forward to reading about them all.
The funny thing about my fondness for Donny is that it doesn’t begin with his child star or teen dream days. Well, maybe that’s not so funny, since I was born during his career slump and he didn’t bounce back until I was nearing double digits. Still, it seems strange to me that prior to reading this book, my only familiarity with his early life as an Osmond Brother was watching the miniseries about his family. I don’t think I’ve ever listened to an Osmond Brothers album. I mean to amend that soon.
No, while I was familiar with the name, I thought of him mostly as a television personality, especially once The Donny and Marie Show started again and I was subjected to Richard Simmons screaming their names several times a day on those endless commercials. But then along came Mulan and the exceptional I’ll Make a Man Out of You, and I realized what an amazing singer Donny is. And not so long after that, I saw Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat on PBS, and while the entire production dazzled me, it was his performance that really caught my attention, especially during the show-stopping Close Ev’ry Door. To this day, I’ve seen few performances to match the purity and sincerity of Donny singing what is probably my favorite Andrew Lloyd Weber song. (One of those, Ryan Kelly’s cover of Desperado, so enchanted me in part because it reminded me of Donny’s delivery of Close Ev’ry Door, as well as my dazed reaction.)
My Story So Far covers all of that territory, from before Donny joined the family group to after Joseph aired. Written with Patricia Romanowski, it’s a fascinating peek into the dynamics of a family who would build a media empire, only to see it crash and have to build it up again, stronger than ever. One of the endearing things about Donny is that he comes across as such a genuinely nice guy, and this book does absolutely nothing to disavow that notion. He seems incapable of truly trashing somebody; any time he expresses dissatisfaction with some element of someone’s personality, he tempers that criticism with praise of another aspect. He finds kind things to say about all sorts of people, from shock-jock Howard Stern to the group of teenagers who heckled him after a performance during his less popular years. He speaks frequently of his commitment to his Mormon faith, which helps inform many of his attitudes and habits, from abstaining from alcohol and profanity to simply being polite at every opportunity. This makes his book a refreshingly G-rated read.
One aspect of the book that I found particularly poignant in light of his death last year is that, particularly when speaking about the early days of the group, Donny compares himself to Michael Jackson. He says how he used to think that Michael was probably about the only other person on the planet who really understood what it was like to be him. Both were seventh in a line of nine children. Both joined their brothers’ groups and found themselves taking over the spotlight. They had to deal with fame from an early age and spent most of their free time practicing under the eyes of very demanding fathers. While I’ve always had a pretty negative impression of Joe Jackson, Donny presents George Osmond in a mostly positive light. It seems that he was an exacting taskmaster, but he never crossed the line into abuse like the Jackson patriarch did. Donny fondly remembers the few times when they got together as children, recalling Michael as sweet, shy and simply grateful to be able to have some normal kid time with a boy around his own age. It’s interesting to see the parallels between these two lives - strange to think how normal and well-adjusted Donny ended up being, while poor Michael, for all his talent, seemed to have little concept of how to operate in the real world.
Donny has plenty to say about many others in the music and television business as well. It’s dizzying to think of how many different people he has worked with on one project or another, from Andy Williams and Jerry Lewis to Groucho Marx and Rosie O’Donnell. But he speaks most often about his brothers, as well as his sister Marie, for whom he reserves special affection (and aggravation). Donny reflects on their beginnings as a group and the various ways in which they might have changed direction; he seems to particularly regret that his teen idol image prevented the group from truly branching out into rock and roll. He also discusses the disappointment that followed their concept album’s dismal sales, which he attributes to an excessive focus on its religious element as they promoted it. Considering his dedication to his church, I was a little surprised that he felt this way, but he was frustrated because he found that most of the songs worked on two levels but that there was no opportunity for people to listen to individual tracks from the album in a different way.
My copy of this book includes several chapters that were written a few years after the original edition. In this section, Donny says that his favorite aspect of his book is his discussion of his crippling social phobia, as his experiences have encouraged many others with similar issues to recognize that they are not alone and to get help. It’s strange to think of a man who’s been performing since the age of six freezing onstage as an adult, let alone going into a panic at the thought of returning an unwanted item to the store, but he candidly recounts this painful aspect of his life, which he overcame with lots of help from his beloved wife Debbie and his psychotherapist, Dr. Jerilyn Ross, who died earlier this month.
I can’t help wondering whether another edition of his autobiography is soon to be forthcoming, now that he’s been crowned Dancing With the Stars champion for the fall of 2009. Or perhaps that experience could be the beginning of a new book, because Donny, no doubt, has many adventures ahead of him, and I look forward to reading about them all.
Leo Lionni Talks Colors and Tolerance in Little Blue and Little Yellow
Illustrations in children’s books don’t have to be complicated to be
effective. One book that always springs to mind when I think of simple
illustrations is Shel Silverstein’s The Missing Piece, along with its sequel, The Missing Piece Meets the Big O.
With just a couple of basic shapes, Silverstein managed to weave a
thought-provoking story. While Silverstein used geometry to tell his
tale, Leo Lionni’s little blue and little yellow utilizes
knowledge of the color spectrum. Instead of how shapes fit together, the
focus is on how two colors, when combined, form a new color.
Lionni’s story is a very simple one that nonetheless can be read on multiple levels. Little blue and little yellow are best friends. Each is represented by a large dot of paint, while other dots represent their classmates and bigger blobs represent their parents. There are no details to be found in any of the illustrations; it’s just stretches of color. The characters are circles or ovals, and various locations are also indicated by blobs of paint. Most pages have a white background, but for dramatic emphasis, one page is black and another is red. It’s not much to work with, but alongside Lionni’s simple narration, these colors sing.
The most dramatic moment comes when, after some time apart, little blue finds little yellow, and both are so overjoyed that they hug each other to the point that each becomes green. Looking at that series of pictures, one could almost swear that they are smiling. Complications come in when they return home to their parents, who no longer recognize them because they are green.
What follows is both a lesson in color mixing and a reflection on how two people’s love for one another has the capacity to change both in dramatic ways. As such, it also becomes a lesson in tolerance, encouraging parents to accept their children’s friends and be open to the ways in which that friendship might alter their worldview.
Like most of the books I’ve been reading lately, little blue and little yellow is a find from 1001 Children’s Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up. Though I’ve encountered Lionni before, I hadn’t heard of this book. It’s been around for 50 years, and in this anniversary edition, there’s a note from Lionni, who died in 1999, explaining the genesis of his idea. That recollection, centering on a train trip with his granddaughters, is almost as sweet as the story itself. For young and old alike, I recommend this colorful little book.
Lionni’s story is a very simple one that nonetheless can be read on multiple levels. Little blue and little yellow are best friends. Each is represented by a large dot of paint, while other dots represent their classmates and bigger blobs represent their parents. There are no details to be found in any of the illustrations; it’s just stretches of color. The characters are circles or ovals, and various locations are also indicated by blobs of paint. Most pages have a white background, but for dramatic emphasis, one page is black and another is red. It’s not much to work with, but alongside Lionni’s simple narration, these colors sing.
The most dramatic moment comes when, after some time apart, little blue finds little yellow, and both are so overjoyed that they hug each other to the point that each becomes green. Looking at that series of pictures, one could almost swear that they are smiling. Complications come in when they return home to their parents, who no longer recognize them because they are green.
What follows is both a lesson in color mixing and a reflection on how two people’s love for one another has the capacity to change both in dramatic ways. As such, it also becomes a lesson in tolerance, encouraging parents to accept their children’s friends and be open to the ways in which that friendship might alter their worldview.
Like most of the books I’ve been reading lately, little blue and little yellow is a find from 1001 Children’s Books You Must Read Before You Grow Up. Though I’ve encountered Lionni before, I hadn’t heard of this book. It’s been around for 50 years, and in this anniversary edition, there’s a note from Lionni, who died in 1999, explaining the genesis of his idea. That recollection, centering on a train trip with his granddaughters, is almost as sweet as the story itself. For young and old alike, I recommend this colorful little book.
Tom Cruise Helps Introduce a German Hero to a Wider Audience in Valkyrie
A couple of weeks ago, I watched the Quentin Tarantino movie that I have come to refer to as Inglourious Fellows.
That movie strays far from reality, turning World War II into the
setting for a spaghetti western in which the heroes always have the
upper hand on the villains - though some of their methods are just as
despicable. I guess I hadn’t had quite enough of Nazis for one month
because the other night, I watched Bryan Singer’s Valkyrie, a considerably more sedate film about a group working to bring down Hitler.
Valkyrie, which is based on a true story, stars Tom Cruise as Colonel Claus van Stauffenberg, a German war hero who is disgusted with Nazism and leads a plot to kill Hitler (David Bamber) and show the world that not all of Germany is in agreement with his policies. Kenneth Branagh portrays Major-General Henning von Tresckow, another important architect of the plan, though his chief concern seems to be making Germany look good, and actually succeeding in their mission seems like less of a likelihood to him, at least initially. Putting together an assassination attempt and subsequent government takeover is a complex task, but they manage to find allies in their quest, some more firm than others. One of the most wishy-washy is General Friedrich Fromm (Tom Wilkinson), who is terrified that the plot will fail and he will be found complicit.
Of course, because this is a movie based on actual events, we know that the plot will fail, which puts a bit of a damper on the whole thing. I had never heard of this event before, so I didn’t know exactly what would go wrong, but I knew something would, since clearly, this was not the way Hitler died. I figured the movie would be a downer, and it certainly is; the ending is especially bleak. What’s more, I found it a bit on the dull side, at least in the beginning; once the fateful day arrives, there was enough action and tension to keep me engaged, but prior to that, it’s mostly a lot of nervous strategizing.
There’s little humor to be found in the movie, though there is a dash of romance, thanks to Claus’s wife Nina (Carice van Houten), who remains deeply devoted and openly affectionate to her husband, unrattled by the war injury that leaves him missing an eye, a hand and several fingers. I like Claus, who comes across as a quiet, pensive family man as well as a determined soldier; he’s not as entertaining as Brad Pitt’s Nazi-killing vigilante in Tarantino’s movie, but he’s not as cruel either. He also feels much more realistic. On the other hand, I had an issue with Cruise’s enunciation throughout the movie. I was tempted to turn on the subtitles because it seemed to me like he was mumbling the whole time.
I know the problem wasn’t his accent because he didn’t have one, which I found a little hard to get used to; all of the characters in the movie are German, but Bamber is the only one who switches to a German accent, since the filmmakers felt an English Hitler would be too distracting. Everyone else uses their natural accents, so some sound German, but others sound American or British, and I had to keep reminding myself that they were all German.
Valkyrie is the kind of movie I can imagine being shown in history classes. It illuminates an interesting piece of German history with which I was unfamiliar, and it seems worthwhile to show that there were plenty of Germans who weren’t under Hitler’s spell. While it didn’t hold my attention as well as it might have, I would recommend it to anyone fascinated by World War II.
Valkyrie, which is based on a true story, stars Tom Cruise as Colonel Claus van Stauffenberg, a German war hero who is disgusted with Nazism and leads a plot to kill Hitler (David Bamber) and show the world that not all of Germany is in agreement with his policies. Kenneth Branagh portrays Major-General Henning von Tresckow, another important architect of the plan, though his chief concern seems to be making Germany look good, and actually succeeding in their mission seems like less of a likelihood to him, at least initially. Putting together an assassination attempt and subsequent government takeover is a complex task, but they manage to find allies in their quest, some more firm than others. One of the most wishy-washy is General Friedrich Fromm (Tom Wilkinson), who is terrified that the plot will fail and he will be found complicit.
Of course, because this is a movie based on actual events, we know that the plot will fail, which puts a bit of a damper on the whole thing. I had never heard of this event before, so I didn’t know exactly what would go wrong, but I knew something would, since clearly, this was not the way Hitler died. I figured the movie would be a downer, and it certainly is; the ending is especially bleak. What’s more, I found it a bit on the dull side, at least in the beginning; once the fateful day arrives, there was enough action and tension to keep me engaged, but prior to that, it’s mostly a lot of nervous strategizing.
There’s little humor to be found in the movie, though there is a dash of romance, thanks to Claus’s wife Nina (Carice van Houten), who remains deeply devoted and openly affectionate to her husband, unrattled by the war injury that leaves him missing an eye, a hand and several fingers. I like Claus, who comes across as a quiet, pensive family man as well as a determined soldier; he’s not as entertaining as Brad Pitt’s Nazi-killing vigilante in Tarantino’s movie, but he’s not as cruel either. He also feels much more realistic. On the other hand, I had an issue with Cruise’s enunciation throughout the movie. I was tempted to turn on the subtitles because it seemed to me like he was mumbling the whole time.
I know the problem wasn’t his accent because he didn’t have one, which I found a little hard to get used to; all of the characters in the movie are German, but Bamber is the only one who switches to a German accent, since the filmmakers felt an English Hitler would be too distracting. Everyone else uses their natural accents, so some sound German, but others sound American or British, and I had to keep reminding myself that they were all German.
Valkyrie is the kind of movie I can imagine being shown in history classes. It illuminates an interesting piece of German history with which I was unfamiliar, and it seems worthwhile to show that there were plenty of Germans who weren’t under Hitler’s spell. While it didn’t hold my attention as well as it might have, I would recommend it to anyone fascinated by World War II.
A Bear Longs for Some Quiet Time in Jill Murphy's Peace At Last
Sometimes, getting a good night’s sleep is no easy task. I’m a fairly
light sleeper, and I find myself distracted by all sorts of nighttime
noises, so I can relate to the plight of Mr. Bear in Peace At Last, Jill Murphy’s cute tale of nocturnal woe. It reminds me of Let Papa Sleep,
in which a pair of rambunctious rabbits receive repeated reprimands
from their mother to keep the noise down so their father can sleep
soundly. In this case, however, Mrs. Bear is utterly oblivious to her
husband’s problem. In fact, she is its most immediate cause.
Mr. Bear cannot sleep. The trouble starts with the fact that Mrs. Bear falls asleep first, and she is a snorer. A loud snorer. I once shared a living room with a sleeping pig, and I certainly didn’t get much sleep that night. I can only imagine how much more noise a bear would make. So, although Mr. Bear, Mrs. Bear and Baby Bear all go to bed tired, Mr. Bear does not fall asleep. It soon becomes clear that the youngster hasn’t hit the hay either, for Mr. Bear’s attempt to achieve blissful slumber in his son’s room is hampered by the lad’s very active imagination.
No matter where he goes, poor Mr. Bear finds himself surrounded by aggravating sounds. As his aggravation grows, he repeats his despairing refrain: “Oh, NO! I can’t stand THIS.” His actions are consistent with his words. On each page, we see him in different surroundings, attempting to bury his head under his blanket or muffle the offending noise by placing a pillow over his ears. Meanwhile, Murphy shows us what is happening in the rest of the area where he has chosen to attempt a nap.
In general, the pages on the left are in black and white and contain simple text, while the pages on the right are in full color. There’s a soft, fuzzy quality to the drawings that emphasizes the cuddliness of these bears and the comfort of their homey existence. For the most part, the left-hand pages are white, but a couple of them are black, so that the words and illustrations on these pages are in white, which creates a rather cool-looking effect. One such page shows a bat flapping to meet the sky; another shows a pair of cats convening on a bright wall.
The right-hand pages are the most fun, though, as they show Mr. Bear’s discomfort in vibrant detail. He’s a lovable fellow, so I suppose it’s not very nice to laugh at him, but I suspect most of us have suffered at least one night of similar sleeplessness, so the laughter is more out of sympathy than derision. Meanwhile, because the focus is on the parent, perhaps young children might be more inclined to take pity on their sleepy parents and keep the noise to a dull roar when naps are in progress.
Peace At Last is a funny book designed to encourage laughter and participation from children in the pre-kindergarten set. The writing is basic and repetitive, and there’s a very simple structure to the story that makes it easy to anticipate what will happen next. Thus, this is a great bedtime story, with a surprise here and there to add interest. For tiny tots whose bedtimes would not be complete without a teddy bear or two, Peace At Last is a cozy way to head off to dreamland.
Mr. Bear cannot sleep. The trouble starts with the fact that Mrs. Bear falls asleep first, and she is a snorer. A loud snorer. I once shared a living room with a sleeping pig, and I certainly didn’t get much sleep that night. I can only imagine how much more noise a bear would make. So, although Mr. Bear, Mrs. Bear and Baby Bear all go to bed tired, Mr. Bear does not fall asleep. It soon becomes clear that the youngster hasn’t hit the hay either, for Mr. Bear’s attempt to achieve blissful slumber in his son’s room is hampered by the lad’s very active imagination.
No matter where he goes, poor Mr. Bear finds himself surrounded by aggravating sounds. As his aggravation grows, he repeats his despairing refrain: “Oh, NO! I can’t stand THIS.” His actions are consistent with his words. On each page, we see him in different surroundings, attempting to bury his head under his blanket or muffle the offending noise by placing a pillow over his ears. Meanwhile, Murphy shows us what is happening in the rest of the area where he has chosen to attempt a nap.
In general, the pages on the left are in black and white and contain simple text, while the pages on the right are in full color. There’s a soft, fuzzy quality to the drawings that emphasizes the cuddliness of these bears and the comfort of their homey existence. For the most part, the left-hand pages are white, but a couple of them are black, so that the words and illustrations on these pages are in white, which creates a rather cool-looking effect. One such page shows a bat flapping to meet the sky; another shows a pair of cats convening on a bright wall.
The right-hand pages are the most fun, though, as they show Mr. Bear’s discomfort in vibrant detail. He’s a lovable fellow, so I suppose it’s not very nice to laugh at him, but I suspect most of us have suffered at least one night of similar sleeplessness, so the laughter is more out of sympathy than derision. Meanwhile, because the focus is on the parent, perhaps young children might be more inclined to take pity on their sleepy parents and keep the noise to a dull roar when naps are in progress.
Peace At Last is a funny book designed to encourage laughter and participation from children in the pre-kindergarten set. The writing is basic and repetitive, and there’s a very simple structure to the story that makes it easy to anticipate what will happen next. Thus, this is a great bedtime story, with a surprise here and there to add interest. For tiny tots whose bedtimes would not be complete without a teddy bear or two, Peace At Last is a cozy way to head off to dreamland.
Around Epinions: Explore the Wilds of India With Mowgli in The Jungle Book
I first became aware of video game systems on a visit to my cousin
David’s house. He had an Atari, and every time we went there, I looked
forward to playing his E. T. game, which, as I recall, mostly
consisted of laying trails of Reese’s Pieces. Later, my friends would
introduce me to the wonders of Nintendo, and although my wild, jerky
movements threatened to knock out a lamp or a clock whenever I was
allowed to try my skill at Duck Hunt or one of the Mario games, I
thought that nothing could be cooler than having a Nintendo of my very
own. Then Super Nintendo came along, and I couldn’t stand it anymore.
One year, my brother and I pooled our savings, and we bought ourselves a
Super Nintendo, along with several classic games that we played through
the ground.
My favorite was one that came along a little later. As I watched the usual parade of Saturday Morning Cartoons, a new commercial captured my attention. A ferocious drill sergeant bellowed out his descriptions of all the rigorous challenges a player would have to face in playing The Jungle Book for Super Nintendo. That classic Disney movie, the last animated film overseen by Walt Disney himself, had long been a favorite of mine, so the premise appealed to me at once, and it looked like a fun game. And my brother and I collapsed into giggles whenever the sergeant concluded the commercial by demanding, in a low and dangerous voice, “Have you ever tried to get to Level Ten in your underwear, boy?”
No, we had not, but yes, we were determined to try. The underwear, of course, refers to the paltry bit of red cloth that passes for Mowgli’s clothing, both in the movie and the game. Mowgli is lanky and limber, even more so in the game; he swings from trees, surfs on giant leaves, ducks and weaves and crouches and leaps his way through all of the trials that await him. Super Nintendo isn’t nearly as graphically advanced as the systems that are out today, but I was always happy with the look of the game, which is modeled after the film. Similarly, the game incorporates music from the movie, most notably The Bare Necessities, a sped-up version of which plays when Mowgli dons a mask giving him brief invincibility.
The masks can be handy, as Mowgli can breeze past enemies without being injured, though I find that, especially with the music on, the mask puts me in a frantic energy mode and, as often as not, I end up accidentally launching myself off a cliff. It’s the steep drops that I generally find most hazardous to my health in this game. For instance, Mowgli must sometimes leap a series of floating leaves, which is tricky to get right. It’s also easy to get carried away when swinging on a vine; that’s one of the most entertaining actions you can do on this game, but it can be tricky to get the timing right. Even when there is no immediate danger below, there is a chance of taking up too much time and ending up losing a life.
Handily, there are halfway points in the levels, so once you’ve mastered the first part of a level, you won’t have to return to it again and again before moving on to the latter portion. The midway point is usually heralded by the young son of elephant colonel Hathi, while Baloo the bear is often on hand to usher Mowgli out of a particular level. Most of the characters from the movie turn up at one point, to help or hinder. My favorite villain, in film and game both, is Kaa the snake. He’s the end-of-the-level boss in the largely vertical tree level, in which Mowgli spends much of his time inside of trees, stumbling into invisible obstacles. The first few times I played, I had one heck of a time putting the hypnotic Kaa out of commission. It’s not quite so tricky anymore, but still, he is one slippery fellow! Other levels require Mowgli to navigate a river, march with Hathi’s troops and make his way through the ruins where King Louie resides. The game finally end when Mowgli beats the tiger Shere Khan and makes his way into the man village to start a new life.
A lot of the game is about ingenuity and agility. Mowgli does a lot of climbing, ducking, jumping and the like, and it’s important to navigate the level with an eye for hidden treasure, since you must collect a certain number of gems in order to advance. Of course, in unearthing hidden treasure, you might also stumble into a threat; my least favorite of these is the beehive, which comes with a very irritating sound effect. There are also prickly pears to watch out for, and mischievous monkeys are always lobbing fruit from overhead. Of course, Mowgli is not unarmed himself. He has an arsenal of bananas, and along with the gems, he also collects various other fruit-based weapons. I generally find the bananas the easiest weapons to use, but it’s worthwhile to pick up as many extras as possible because it is possible to run out of bananas.
The Jungle Book is fairly easy to play but not so easy that it lacks a challenge. I prefer it to the fairly similar Aladdin and The Lion King, though those are fun as well. The only downside, really, is that two people can’t play at once, but I’ve always preferred one-at-a-time games anyway, since you get to make all of the decisions without having to worry about how they affect another player. If you prefer to play simultaneously with a friend, Goof Troop is a cute Disney game that allows this and is probably my favorite of such games that I have tried on the Super Nintendo.
I’ve noticed that lately, a lot of my friends have joined the Facebook group When I Was Your Age, We Had to Blow on the Video Games to Make Them Work. Though we don’t pull out the Super Nintendo too often at my house anymore, it’s still in the living room, and once in a while I get the urge to expend a bit of hot air for the sake of spending a couple of hours with a classic video game, particularly this one. Now that I have gotten to level ten many times over, I can certainly attest that The Jungle Book was a worthwhile investment.
My favorite was one that came along a little later. As I watched the usual parade of Saturday Morning Cartoons, a new commercial captured my attention. A ferocious drill sergeant bellowed out his descriptions of all the rigorous challenges a player would have to face in playing The Jungle Book for Super Nintendo. That classic Disney movie, the last animated film overseen by Walt Disney himself, had long been a favorite of mine, so the premise appealed to me at once, and it looked like a fun game. And my brother and I collapsed into giggles whenever the sergeant concluded the commercial by demanding, in a low and dangerous voice, “Have you ever tried to get to Level Ten in your underwear, boy?”
No, we had not, but yes, we were determined to try. The underwear, of course, refers to the paltry bit of red cloth that passes for Mowgli’s clothing, both in the movie and the game. Mowgli is lanky and limber, even more so in the game; he swings from trees, surfs on giant leaves, ducks and weaves and crouches and leaps his way through all of the trials that await him. Super Nintendo isn’t nearly as graphically advanced as the systems that are out today, but I was always happy with the look of the game, which is modeled after the film. Similarly, the game incorporates music from the movie, most notably The Bare Necessities, a sped-up version of which plays when Mowgli dons a mask giving him brief invincibility.
The masks can be handy, as Mowgli can breeze past enemies without being injured, though I find that, especially with the music on, the mask puts me in a frantic energy mode and, as often as not, I end up accidentally launching myself off a cliff. It’s the steep drops that I generally find most hazardous to my health in this game. For instance, Mowgli must sometimes leap a series of floating leaves, which is tricky to get right. It’s also easy to get carried away when swinging on a vine; that’s one of the most entertaining actions you can do on this game, but it can be tricky to get the timing right. Even when there is no immediate danger below, there is a chance of taking up too much time and ending up losing a life.
Handily, there are halfway points in the levels, so once you’ve mastered the first part of a level, you won’t have to return to it again and again before moving on to the latter portion. The midway point is usually heralded by the young son of elephant colonel Hathi, while Baloo the bear is often on hand to usher Mowgli out of a particular level. Most of the characters from the movie turn up at one point, to help or hinder. My favorite villain, in film and game both, is Kaa the snake. He’s the end-of-the-level boss in the largely vertical tree level, in which Mowgli spends much of his time inside of trees, stumbling into invisible obstacles. The first few times I played, I had one heck of a time putting the hypnotic Kaa out of commission. It’s not quite so tricky anymore, but still, he is one slippery fellow! Other levels require Mowgli to navigate a river, march with Hathi’s troops and make his way through the ruins where King Louie resides. The game finally end when Mowgli beats the tiger Shere Khan and makes his way into the man village to start a new life.
A lot of the game is about ingenuity and agility. Mowgli does a lot of climbing, ducking, jumping and the like, and it’s important to navigate the level with an eye for hidden treasure, since you must collect a certain number of gems in order to advance. Of course, in unearthing hidden treasure, you might also stumble into a threat; my least favorite of these is the beehive, which comes with a very irritating sound effect. There are also prickly pears to watch out for, and mischievous monkeys are always lobbing fruit from overhead. Of course, Mowgli is not unarmed himself. He has an arsenal of bananas, and along with the gems, he also collects various other fruit-based weapons. I generally find the bananas the easiest weapons to use, but it’s worthwhile to pick up as many extras as possible because it is possible to run out of bananas.
The Jungle Book is fairly easy to play but not so easy that it lacks a challenge. I prefer it to the fairly similar Aladdin and The Lion King, though those are fun as well. The only downside, really, is that two people can’t play at once, but I’ve always preferred one-at-a-time games anyway, since you get to make all of the decisions without having to worry about how they affect another player. If you prefer to play simultaneously with a friend, Goof Troop is a cute Disney game that allows this and is probably my favorite of such games that I have tried on the Super Nintendo.
I’ve noticed that lately, a lot of my friends have joined the Facebook group When I Was Your Age, We Had to Blow on the Video Games to Make Them Work. Though we don’t pull out the Super Nintendo too often at my house anymore, it’s still in the living room, and once in a while I get the urge to expend a bit of hot air for the sake of spending a couple of hours with a classic video game, particularly this one. Now that I have gotten to level ten many times over, I can certainly attest that The Jungle Book was a worthwhile investment.
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